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.