Closed Doors….

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We’ve all heard the adage, “When one door closes, another one opens”… you know, opportunity exists and all the crappity crap crap crap.

Or, how about, that bitch just stays firmly  and tightly closed….

I don’t care about doors, or windows for that matter, these days.  Or maybe it’s anymore.

I’m not even sure opportunity is real, what with the virtual elimination of the middle class and demotion of said class to the poverty level and all.

Lord knows, I’ve been working my white ass silly, literally, and nothing seems to change for me.  Except maybe I’m just caring less and less these days.

The sad thing is, my door used to be wide open.  To all.  Regardless how much I’ve been hurt, or how many times someone hurt me.  I would always, no matter what, be there for others.

I always believed.  Like a fool.

As a little girl and as an adult.

Now this fool, she’s decided to close the door.

To everyone.

Not because she doesn’t love the remaining few people in her life, but because she does.

Plus, it’s a matter of survival.  Protecting what’s left of my sorry heart.  My shattered belief system.  If I don’t give of myself, I can’t be hurt.

Genius!

I used to think love was boundless.  I believed that no matter how much I was hurt by others, that the fountain and foundation of love that bubbled inside me, would carry me (and those hurting me) through.  Fail.

My Polish Princess, bless her beautiful soul, said to me recently that she thought I was incredible for being brave enough to fully open myself to love; that doing so was far more then most people (including herself) could ever do out of fear; and my ability to do so was a tremendous gift….for the right person…and that person will come.

I wish I could share her positivity.  Because the truth is, that person (and a few others) has already come.

And destroyed.

And let go.

And left.

That person is also the reason why the door has been closed.

Shut.

Tight.

No daylight.

Go away.

No. One. Is. Here. Anymore.

Maybe, I will find a way back to open the door.  Invite others in.  Share my love again.

Or not.

Maybe I won’t be able to open the door again because the hinges are rusted and won’t budge.  The knob just won’t turn.

And I will stay exactly where I am.

Alone. Questioning. Regretting.

Protecting the last little, itty, bitty, tiny piece of my sorry heart from the outside world.

Never quite believing others.

Never quite trusting others.

Never trusting myself…

And cursing the day I allowed myself to believe in love one more time, instead of leaving that muthafuckin’ door closed…

 

 

 

 

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