he came like a thief in the night.
or at least that’s my story.
i didn’t expect him at all. this man who stole my heart.
if i had known he would come, i would most certainly have put extra bolts and walls up. but i wasn’t expecting him. he scaled the balcony, this fortress I had built, and snuck in through a side door of my quiet life. he found me half asleep, unused to visitors and yet, somewhere – deep inside – half expecting him.
he coaxed me with beautiful words, and moonlight songs strummed on his big bold guitar. he filled my home with paintings and my fridge with things i had deprived myself of for so long. With him, the ice slowly started to melt around me, at first half cracking around the permanent smile planted on my face.
and then as quickly as he had scaled the wall of my heart, he walked out of my front door and drove off in a real car … right out of my life. the irony is, is that i had asked him to go, not because i had wanted him to, but because i had needed him to.
And now as I sit, in my white cool room, no remnants of him to be found, save for two paintings lying in my lounge, I wonder if I had dreamt it all, or if love had perhaps visited me for a time.