doors halfway open

you do what you have to do, dot all your i’s and cross all your t’s. we close doors and “forget” to lock them, leaving doors halfway open, always left open for the ones that get away. or the ones we push away. even the ones that think they’ve faded, still fresh on our minds. always a spot left empty on our placemats. the definition is under the word grief, yes, even when they’re alive. the best ones are the ones we dig the graves for, blindfolded with shovels in our hands. I’m not sorry for holding the door open for this long, I’m sorry you didn’t hear it close.