Flickered

Those are the same hands 
that threw the door open, 
led me into the greener parts of your heart.

But lately, the door won’t open.

I kept knocking 
until I wore my pride thin on your doorstep.

I called your name. 
Desperately. Repeatedly.
But it echoed back empty.

I stayed long enough 
for the porch light to burn out.

I didn’t know 
I was knocking on a door 
that had already been locked.

Now my knees are bruised. 
My eyes grow weary. 
And hope is starting to flicker.