Monday, February 17, 2014


My darling Westra,

When I was a little girl, I fell in love with doors.
I pressed my palms against glass walls and pushed because I believed that if I pushed hard enough, I could make doors out of anything and sometimes, I think, I pushed too hard and against too much and things...broke.
Once, I took my grandfather's sledgehammer and made a door between my room and his because this, I insist, is still the best way to breach distance.
My mother told me never to walk without my shoes but mom, how will I know where I stand if I can't feel the earth beneath my feet and my mother said instead to ditch the shoes and buy a few goose-down socks and take long walks on angel wings.
When I first put on my boxing gloves, I thought of what a shame it was to not be able to touch your skin for the next hour and ten minutes.
You hit me first with a thousand stars, with a galaxy of glittery hearts and the last thing I remember before I blacked out was the bright sun of a yellow boxing glove coming at me like a comet.
My mother told me you were trouble, that falling for you was falling too far down the rabbit hole and oh, dear Alice, your tears will do nothing but drown you.
Did you really think that I would sink down to my knees and beg for a first date?
I would have.
I would have swallowed my pride and locked my ego in the cellar with my dignity and gone down on one knee and begged you to marry me for two hours and five minutes till Friday the thirteenth hit credits.
Do you remember the first time you kissed me? It was dark and I was dark and we were black holes of need and the only light came from the fireworks between our teeth.
Four years ago, I tried to fit all my feelings into the box of chocolates that you gave me on Valentine's day and stuff them back inside my mouth because I was so scared.
When I left for college I took the little stuffed dog you gave me on our third date and the i'm-sorry-it's-not-real kitten from our two hundredth and built a white picket fence around them and called myself Mrs.Westra.
And then I cried for a whole year straight because you were the one door that I was too scared to push.
Last Christmas my sister bought me winter boots lined with sheepskin and I tucked my feet into the down and pretended that I was walking on the wings of angels.
On New Years eve I took my nephew's toy jackhammer and tried to make a door between your room and mine because, this, I insist, is still the best way to breach distance.
I'm no longer a little girl, but I'm still in love with doors.

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