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Rain
My heart is a door.
After work, when I come to my house,
The door is locked.
The brain says, help.
The brain says, stuck, stuck.
I fumble around in my pockets.
After searching tirelessly for my key,
When I realize I forgot,
The heart starts to pound.
The brain says, not now.
The brain says, not after all this, not after all this.
I run, the wind’s sobs thundering in my ears.
I round a corner, the rain’s pattering footsteps chasing after me.
I cry, raindrops tracing rivulets down my skin.
The brain says, I can’t ask for help.
The brain says, that’s selfish, that’s selfish.
The streetlights hum and flicker.
Their glow leads me down a dimly-lit avenue.
Puddles of rain splash my socks soaked with each step.
I reach his place.
I knock on the door.
His heart is a door.
As it rains, pours, when I come to his house,
The door opens.
He says, “Do you need help?”
He smiles, pulls me close, and strokes my rain-soaked hair.
He says, “I’m here, I’m here.”
He says, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
He pulls an umbrella out of the bin by the door.
I feel bad for making him do this for me so late at night.
But he grins as he raises the umbrella over our heads,
A force-field shielding me from the rain.
The streetlights feel brighter as he walks me home,
Back to the door.
He pulls a spare key out of his pocket.
I didn’t even know he had it.
He unlocks the door.
I wipe the tears from my face.
I’m home.
The brain says, happy.
The heart says, safe.
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This poem is for Sky, my dearest love, who reminds me every day that no matter how hard it gets, the rain will pass and the blue skies will come again.