He knocks at my door.

Piercing eyes meet mine.  With a quick grin he greets me and reminds me what I deserve, what I’ve worked so hard for.  He knows what I really meant and how I’ve been misunderstood.  He shows me what I’m entitled to, and reminds me that I don’t have it.  I lean in and crack the door as I listen. His foot slides into the opening.  His voice washes over me and floods me with memories. I hear myself telling him what happened before, and how it wasn’t fair. His eyes flash as I recount the bitter pain of not receiving what I thought was best for me.  I glance up and down the sidewalk to make sure we’re alone, sneak him in, and lock the door to be with him.  His presence is strong, and I feel powerful things as he continues to speak.

His name is Disappointment.

The more he talks, the more I feel.  Betrayal burns and entitlement rises.  He understands. My heart pounds as we converse.  The more I listen, the more he helps me remember.  Those words I didn’t want to hear, that pain I didn’t choose.  That person I tried so hard to please.  That friend who just wasn’t who I thought she’d be. The plans that didn’t go…well…anything like I’d planned.  He knows I got the short end of the deal. If only life had been fair.  What if things had gone differently? Questions arise, guts churn, and my breath catches in my throat. I shutter as his cold fingers brush my cheek and rest on my neck.  He’d fight for me. He’d stay.  He could make my heart hard enough to handle the pain.  What do I have to lose?  Life isn’t ever going to be what I thought it would be.  I could be his.

He knocks at my door. 

Knowing eyes meet mine.  With a warm smile he greets me and reminds me what I have, what has been offered to me.  He knows what I’ve worked so hard for.  He knows what I really meant, and how I’ve been misunderstood.  He opens his book and shows me a list, surprising me with the fact that he took notes each time he saw me cry. I lean in and crack the door as I listen. He steps back welcoming me to join him in the daylight.  His voice washes over me and floods me with memories.  I hear myself telling him what happened before and how it wasn’t fair.  His eyes soften as I recount the bitter pain of not receiving what I thought was best for me.  I glance over my shoulder and quietly close the door behind me as I slip into the fresh air to be with him.  His presence is strong, and I feel powerful things as he continues to speak.

His name is Hope.

The more he talks, the more I feel.  Loyalty soothes, and anticipation rises. He understands.  My heart pounds as we converse.  The more I listen, the more he helps me remember.  That pain I didn’t choose brought a strength I hadn’t known. That betrayal hadn’t seemed fair, but it moved me to a place where I could heal instead of hide.  He paints me a picture much bigger than the one in my mind  and suddenly I’m relieved that my plans didn’t go…well…anything like I’d planned.  What if things had gone differently? Questions turn to realization, my purpose becomes clear, and breath catches in my throat.  I gasp as his hands open and his finger traces the ink that permanently secures my name on his palm.  He’d fight for me.  He’d stay. He could make my heart soft enough to understand the pain.  What do I have that I can’t lose?  Life isn’t ever going to be what I thought it would be.  I could be his.

The choice is mine.