There’s a hole in my heart
Where the door used to be
Not a swinging door, or a revolving one either
Just a plain old, ordinary door that got blown off its hinges
It was never a busy door before
Almost like the seldom used back door of a smoking lounge
But you were the one that didn’t just walk by and stare at its mysterious mahogany
You peeked your head inside just to see, and for one reason or another,
You let it close behind you.
Not used to strangers stumbling upon my lair, I approached the situation with caution
Your curious face grabbed my attention like Monty Python approaching his Holy Grail
Like finding the car of your dreams
Like, something, going right in life, for once
Hell, few people ever even saw that old door before, let alone opened it
And you explained to me that you had been looking for the record store
And I told you that it was around the corner under the big “Record Store” sign
And of course I was careful because I didn’t know if you would appreciate my humor just yet
But you did. And I let out the biggest sigh of relief inside because I didn’t want to scare away my visitor.
You noticed that the room was very cold, emotionless, and asked why it was so
I simply answered that I wondered the same thing everyday
You decide the record store is unimportant
And choose to sit and share stories with me.
We speak of family,
And of where we’re going
Though our tales have very, very little in common, we build a common bond
And before the night is over, I get the courage to invite you back the next time you head over to the record store.
The next time you find you’re way to that beaten door, you notice it thumping in tempo
Like a quick rhythm, a thump-THUMP, thump-THUMP, thump-THUMP,
You figure it’s just me blasting some music inside
When you enter you notice nothing and forget, and we start to talk once more
You ignore the cheap wine and hastily thrown together food
And for logic beyond the realm of understanding, you tell me you’re enjoying yourself
You can tell I’m unsure how to respond, so you push your finger to my lips
“Allow me. Don’t say a word.”
That was the first night we made love.
All new to me and like I’d never seen
You said you saw something in me you didn’t see anywhere else
A certain purity of sorts, and you admired that
I just smiled and said thank you.
I’d never really received a compliment before.
And for months you kept returning to the wicked door by the record store.
To call it magical would be an understatement.
I’d go with ecstasy.
To feel the touch and affection of another is incomparable bliss.
Eventually you told me you loved me.
To which I responded honestly, I wouldn’t know if I felt the same towards you
But you told me that you already knew what I felt
And that’s all you needed to know
The months flew by and the weather changed
And that door never saw so much action
Constantly vibrating to that beat, beat, beat
Just when I thought we were on a path seemingly
Ascending to the gates of Saint Peter
You changed.
What had once been the trait of the room within-
Cold. Emotionless. Distant.
Had by some property transferred to you
And that touch which had at once felt so angelic
Now felt empty and imagined
You did not stop by for awhile after that
But when you did, you felt a change in that door
You paid no attention though.
You just came straight in
“I’m going to New Orleans.”
No explanation. No discussion.
Just a determined, hollow departure
No apology. No regret
Just you walking out that door.
And as you passed that door like you had so many times before
It stopped beating.
And it hasn’t since.
That door is long gone now.
Not used to much usage, it fell off of its hinges
No different than hundreds of leaves falling in late Autumn.
And now there’s a hole in my heart
Even bigger than where that door used to be
Nothing enters.
Nothing leaves.
No beat, beat or thump-Thump
Just a hole, invisible for the world to see
Home 
