Words on the Door

I don't dare raise a hand to that foggy door because I know exactly what I'll write and even if I resist writing it, I know exactly what I'll think (which I think too much already) and want to write it. But I can't because I wanna say it but I can't. And I want, I want, I want,  but this is so much more; this is I need and I hate that but I'm terrible and it's true. The door knows it all and when I leave it, it feels so sorry for me that its arms of steam wrap me up and hold me; if only for a moment until the mist clears from my eyes and from the room. And they promise me they'll make the words on the door disappear soon. And maybe if they were just a little more buff and could speak just a little louder they would promise me that they would make all my pains go away; like the words on the door. Just like the words on the door...

J.