One should let oneself feel. So they say. But I have and it didn't seem to work. At least not for me.

Open up. Let her in.

I am open. She refuses to enter.

The door is open.

I wait and wait. The door is open, and no shadow fills its emptiness.

I mark the days, the months, perhaps someday the years. I remember the date.

She did come in. She did. She told me she would be there forever. Until I died.

Then she killed it.

But I keep the door open. I allow myself to feel. Still.