No matter

No matter how hard I've tried.  I can't forget you.  But I can't seem to forgive you either.
When I can't look into your face and read your thoughts how am I supposed to go on living?

I find myself wondering through hallways too afraid to open any doors to the rooms.

Dread fills my soul as my hand touches a handle, much like Judith in Duke Bluebeard's castle, I demand the doors be opened, but am afraid at what I'll find.

Behind door number one I find the memories of mental anguish.  Bad things I've been made to believe about myself flooding out like a torrent.

Door number two holds all of the mind games you used to play.  I steel my heart and push on.

When I move to number three, you nudge me forward, suggesting that I turn the key myself.  Light floods out knowledge and love.  Your education plainly evident on the walls, your care and desire to cook.  How you used to memorize everything I said.  The poetry you used to write me is written on the walls as if it were a beautiful wallpaper.

Number four shows your love for nature.  I see images of our time together biking, hiking, I see us laying in a grassy field kissing and touching, laughing and loving.  I hear the sound of the birds and the Aspen trees we both adore.  Staring up in the sky of stars, listening to the water beat the shore of the river, my head on your chest, where it seems to belong.

When I open door number five, I shield my eyes, the sun beaming in brightly.  Fields and mountains, streams and meadows, your past homes and our future home we've talked so lovingly about building, tucked into the south brow of the foothills of a vast mountain range. Made of glass and stone, made with our own hands, beautifully constructed and designed to shelter us.

Suddenly you grasp my hands and ask me to stop.  Command me to stop.  Tell me to love you and enjoy the life before us.

I demand no more secrets and I open the sixth door.  The room is dark, and when opened a shadow covers the sun.  A small box is in the middle, and inside are slips of paper with words written upon them. "Anger" "Distrust" "Manipulation" "Need to be right" "Domestic Violence" "Hurt" "Cowardice" All of these words about you, about me, about us and the pain we've caused each other.
Memories have covered everything like blood red stains that won't wash off.

With force you won't allow the last door to be opened, that it must be closed forever.

I move pasted you and throw it open, wide.

Then I see it, all of your past hurts, caused and taken. Your two ex wives, your ex girlfriends, your sons, your brothers, parents, and friends who you've been hurt by or who have felt your anger and wrath.  They sit locked inside this room that you don't allow anyone into, that you won't step into yourself to clean out.

You take me by the wrists, kiss my lips and push me through the doorway, an echo louder than the night leaving me in the darkness.