Jan. 03 - You Are Standing In A Doorway

I'm standing in the doorway watching you sleep. I study your face, the lines of time and worry softened in slumber. You look ten years younger, as if time hasn't passed since I first met you. But, of course, it has moved in between us like an icy cold front.

I sip my coffee and wonder on this day of celebration, the birth of our son, what goes on in your mind and what has really taken you so far away from me.You were wounded and vulnerable when you stumbled into my life, a lifetime of issues clawing away at our soul, but I fell in love with you anyway. Perhaps because you were vulnerable.

You sigh and turn in your sleep. I long to place my hand on your shoulder, to kiss your scalp where, on uncounted nights of making love, I'd run my fingers, tracing the path of your sweat. I want to curl up next to you, hear your breathing in my ear. I want to reach into your heart and remove all the blackness that resides there and free its black moth form to dissolve in the sunlight.

I am imprisoned within the door frame, unable to approach you, unable to climb the wall you have built between us. I can not free you from a prison of your own making even though my fingers bleed from scratching at the stones between us. I am helpless to do anything but watch which way you fall. May you choose to fall back into my arms.