Let It Visit

Oh, pain.

I see you out on the front porch through the little peep hole.

I've locked the door.

The door knob, the dead bolt and the chain I screwed in last week when I saw that you were probably planning a trip to see me.

I considered putting bars on the windows, but thought otherwise.

You're knocking.

Ringing the bell repeatedly.

Now you're peeping through the windows that I've covered with heavy drapes.

I want you to go away SO BADLY.

But, locking you out only intensifies your power.

Come in.

Sit there on the sofa, covered in a gray slip to cover the rips and holes that blanket her.

I'll come sit close by.

Let's talk.

Let's visit about the things.

All the things.

Can I get you a Coke Zero?
I'm going to need a couple 44 ouncers for this talk.

Yes, I feel you.

I see you.

 I hear you.

Although I don't like our visits, I don't hope for them or desire them.

I try to over-schedule myself so I don't have time for them.

But, I recognize that you're going to come anyways.

So, I'm setting aside time and space for you.

But when we are done this time, I'll ask you to leave.

You can't stay for too long.

It's not good for either of us.

I'll show us both grace.

We both deserve grace.

I'll promise not to over-schedule myself any longer.

I promise to not barricade myself in the house, locking you out and hiding away.

I promise to honor you.

And then to open the door and let you out kindly.

I'll see you next time.