the man next door.

Lost my keys in the garden trying to find the door to your heart. I should have known you’d lock me out. And as I sat there, waiting, deciding whether or not to try the doggy door, a nice man walked up to ask for some sugar.

It was your neighbor, John.

I told him you weren’t home to save himself the trouble of knocking, so I offered him some of mine instead. We spoke over coffee and I asked him to stay for dinner. Made him my famous vegan lasagna and bonded over kombucha and new beginnings. Sent him home with a box of leftovers and he left me with the key to his heart.

I watched as he turned the corner and booked it to your house — desperately trying to get back a piece of me that never belonged to you in the first place. Like a needle in a haystack, I panic. Hopelessly lost in your garden of twigs and weeds; you never watered the seeds that I planted here, did you?

That’s when he sees me, John. With eyes like the sea after a storm, he asks me what I’m doing and I tell him I’ve lost my keys, so he gives me his glasses to help me see — I didn’t realize I was blind until my key was standing right in front of me.

John.

And just like that, my door opened and I was home.

I am home.

2 thoughts on “the man next door.

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