the door

I’ve kinda fallen in love with you already
you know

I mean

I know you’re there and I’m here
and she’s there and I’m not

and I don’t even know you anyway

so this probably isn’t any kind of love
worth making official with ceremony
or acknowledgement by society
or cementing in property

Proper-ly

but it’s the kind of love worth writing about
I think
as I walk along the empty street
towards home

because it doesn’t come with any of those conditions
and so it’s going to never end
even though it can’t be true
for them

so it’ll also probably never really begin
or get started up
but I kinda love you already
anyway

because you’re me

I know
and it’s okay

you’re only me
I’m talking to
until I get to know you –
if I do.

See?

but I’m not allowed to

it might be considered a sin
or something
or just plain old bad
if a person wasn’t that way
inclined

I ask you

how can any kind of love be bad?

but I also know
I don’t need to ask you this

I walk past the house that’s not a home as I think

too lost in thought
and writing this
all in my head
to see
even though it’s usually
when I see most clearly

sometimes you need to stop seeing
so your vision can clear

I walk so far past the gate
that I’m surprised when I see the door

It brings me to a sudden stop
and these thoughts stop as suddenly

have I been here before?

I squint
hoping what I’m seeing is true and right

without my store bought lenses on

it is her

Perhaps I do have some icons left
to remember

after all

I stand there staring for a moment
while I take her in

then I begin to move instinctively again

as my curiosity overcomes
my shame

of the possibility of being impolite

it isn’t only her
stuck in the middle

it’s her everywhere and all over

I wonder who lives in this house
and I know I’m going to meet them

one day

the door is closed tight
and the house feels
abandoned

perhaps it’s a part-time place I think
as I walk on still confused

unaware I’m lost again

but as I look back
I see a window
left open

that reveals she is Home

I know she is a woman
I know she’s an artist
I know she’s weary of people
I know she prefers her solitude
because she’s feels differently

But I also know that’s what makes her an artist
and I know she’s happy
now

alone in that house
that is her Home

content
to keep the front door locked
up tight enough
for it to say clearly
that it’s not worth knocking
anymore

she’s left this message on her door

to let people know
who
and what
she is before

they do

she’s accepted
she doesn’t see things quite the same way
or feel them like that anyway

I hope they hear her
through the busy noise of the pretending

Frieda must have been some kind of something, huh?

Being so much
of who she was
at a time like that in the world

I would knock on her door as well
were I courageous enough

to meet her
where she chose

to Live

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