you were to knock on my door,I would probably open it.
Some people, that’s all they want or need from you, for you to open your door when they knock on it. It’s a fairly easy task to accomplish for them even if you’re the sort of introvert who classifies themselves as a hermit, as I do, and sometimes tells people that they’re anti-social (it’s fun to see what people do when you’re that open about yourself, it’s also rather intriguing to find that many people say the same about themselves when you say that about yourself).
But other people want a bit more than that, such as taking a look at what lies behind your door.
“Behind them, across the hall, the dancers shattered their roses on the floor, and Aedion grinned at his queen as the entire world went to hell.”― Sarah J. Maas
If I were to open my front door wide enough for you to take a glance into my hallway… what I would see of what you see would be slight surprise, it’s not what you expected,
a tinge of horror or some other form of disapproval, disgust, disappointment, not only is it not what you expected but it’s not to your taste at all,
a certain desire to fix what is wrong (according to you) with it, that glint in the eye of an idealist who wants what is in their mind’s eye to be made for their viewing pleasure, a smidgen of curiosity about why it’s in such a state, with an added hint of wondering what I’m planning to do with it, how it will look once I’ve finished working on it… and a tinge of fear that I may leave it as it is (I actually quite like it this way)
and a certain unspoken arrogance as to why I haven’t magically sorted it all out so that those who get to see it won’t be faced with such a sore sight for the eyes (maybe your eyes turn everything they see into something which makes them sore, have you ever considered that).
Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live, But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a large and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain. ”― Ella Wheeler Wilcox
If I were to knock on your door…and if you opened your door…
(I’d probably be surprised that you did because I thought I’d timed my visit well to coincide with when you’d be out)
you’d probably get annoyed with me for not noticing what you wanted me to notice and for noticing what you didn’t want me to notice… I’d be looking at you rather than your carefully and beautifully decorated hallway, but I wouldn’t be judging you the way that you might perhaps conclude that I am based on the fact that I have dark and staring eyes which seem to make people nervous (especially when I’m spaced out) as they think I’m thinking all sorts of dark thoughts about them, penetrating into the areas they try to hide… telling them that I’m doing nothing of the sort doesn’t help at all .
One moment of silence from me (while I gather my thoughts enough to form a cohesive sentence) and people spill their guts, show me where they’ve hidden the bodies which are now skeletons rattling away haunting them (in the cupboard under the stairs… where all the clutter, dust, damp and spiders gather).
I’d invite you in for a cup of something but I can see that you’re longing to make your escape… I mean you’re very busy with busy things…
It’s okay, I understand…
you’re afraid that you’ll never be seen or see again once you cross my threshold…
(and no, I don’t hide bodies in the cupboard under the stairs, there’s nothing under the stairs – as you can plainly see – I prefer to let the bodies hide themselves).
“I don’t want sunbursts or marble halls, I just want you.” ― L.M. Montgomery