There was a deadbolt on your door the day you requested I leave. I turned to go but was perplexed by the contraption I saw before me. With the countless number of times I’d been here, how did I not notice the giant brass of the deadbolt’s body? With the countless number of times we played house, how did I not notice the taunting clack of the deadbolt as it rapped upon your door? With the countless number of times you pulled me into you, how the hell had I ever gotten in here in the first place?

I couldn’t move but not for lack of wanting to go anymore.

I couldn’t move but not for hoping you’d hold me back like you had infinite times before.

No, this time I couldn’t move because of bewilderment;

between a deadbolt and no key,

“How did I ever think someone else

or, the way you put it, myself

could be the one to set you free?.”

I used to pride myself on how well I knew you. But no one can step through a door without there first being an opening to peer through.

It’s not a person who hides behind nuts and bolts and brick wall formations but rather an ego too afraid of itself or, for that matter, anyone else. With a prison so secure, to get in or get out, one must be dead set on destruction and with eyes wide closed, to simply rush in.