Broken Door

When you open me up, it warms my heart. Even if I don’t really have one, but a lock, a handle and a hinge instead. I used to live in the woods a while back and had a lot of feelings for my environment. I even had a close relationship to some of the other trees, but that’s a story I’ll save for another time.

I’m busier than usual now. I get opened and closed more often than before, sometimes gently other times with a slam. The two residents – he and she – don’t come home or go outtogetheranymore. It usedtobe such a lively and happy place.

I’m not exactly sure what happened, I can only guess. I think they’re having problems and I don’t where they’re heading.

Yesterday, the way he opened me was much different than in the past and I had the strangest premonition. He walked by me, turned around and looked into the house and somehow I knew this was going to be his last time. And then he closed me with a jolt.

My life became unhinged, so to say. That’s why I’m a broken door.