You are so very beautiful.
It has been a month since I first saw you on the same street I walk down every day, each morning. You leave around the same time each day, sometimes a few minutes late. Often, you rush to your car, still brushing your hair to get ready to go work. You can be so irresponsible, it’s kind of funny. Endearing, really. I think you are stunning, much more than the last one.
You have never seen me, and that’s okay.
I see you when you come home from work. You look so, so very tired as you slam the door of your little blue car for the evening. It must be exhausting, whatever job you have. You look drained, with dark under your eyes. I still don’t know what occupation you have, but I can guess it’s something stressful. I can’t just ask you, of course. You look worried today, why?
At night, you often order food in, Chinese food, usually. Noodles, fried rice, sweet and sauce chicken. You always check everything first, with the delivery kid. Tyler, that’s how I learned you name, hearing the delivery kid say it. You never complain, even when the restaurant gets the order wrong. I think it’s sweet of you, but you deserve it to be made right. I’d make whatever we wanted to eat, but I’ll admit, it’s been a long time since I cooked for myself.
I see you, sitting and eating, on your couch. You seem to watch the same few shows, every night. Maybe it’s comforting for you, the reliability of the same things, knowing it’s always there for you while you curl up under that thick, red knitted blanket. Who made it for you? It looks cozy. It would be big enough to share, cuddled up underneath, watching the same shows. You look around, uneasy, and look at your phone. Bedtime, of course.
You have done a lot with your house, definitely not a minimalist. Wall hangings, shelves filled with books (weird, I don’t recall seeing you read), and some different movie memorabilia. This house was empty for a long while, so it’s good to see someone giving it TLC. You painted the kitchen, last weekend. Yellow was an odd choice, but it’s bright and you seem to like it, and it does suit you.
And your room, well that was different story. A queen bed with simple black sheets, grey pillow cases and a black blanket. Your alarm, which I’m sure you distain, perches alongside your glasses on your nightstand. No dresser, but your closet is a mess, Tyler. Maybe you would make it out the door for work in time, if you straightened it up. I’d do it for you, make sure everything is neat and tidy.
You sleep with one arm outside the blanket. That’s so…weird. But maybe you like that small touch of cold, to help balance out those thick blankets. Sometimes I wonder if I reached out, and touched your arm, would you startle awake? I don’t think so, you seem to sleep so heavily and I wouldn’t want to disturb you. You feel stressed, and need the rest. Laying in the bed there, feeling warmth, would be beyond bliss. Sometimes you wake up, and look around the room. I know it’s not me, but you look scared. A nightmare? This happens a lot.
And again, the next morning, you leave again. Disheveled, you groggily get into your car.
It’s been a month of this Tyler, and you still don’t know I’m here. You have not seen me, not once. I see you, of course.
I take the time to walk the halls and rooms of the house after you are gone. Passing through the kitchen, living room, bedroom. I take it all in, running my fingers along the furnishings. It’s warm, and filled with you. It’s different than when I lived here, but that’s okay.
I get to the small door in the kitchen, the one I don’t go into. The one I can’t enter. I stare at the door, you didn’t paint over that yet. The old wood, white paint chipping stays untouched. That stupid realtor never found the key, and you have put off paying for a locksmith to come and break the lock or make a new key.
I look at the clock on the wall, it’s almost time. I’ll close my eyes, as I fade away to relive that moment. It’s been years, but it still hurts. The wounds hurt, but my heart hurts more. I trusted him, Tyler. He hurt me, and he left me there, behind that small door. The loud clacking of the old lock, the warm pooling of my blood on the cold concrete floor. I don’t know why. I’ll probably never know why.
I snap back, it’s been hours. The light in your bright yellow kitchen, my yellow kitchen, has dimmed. I can hear the locks of the front door clicking, and you talking. Home, already. Who are you talking to?
Your eyes pass over the spot I’m standing, talking on the phone. My heart drops, listening to you and I want to scream. Moving? Tyler, you just got here!
You CAN’T leave. You CAN’T move.
I’m angry, and throw myself down to the floor against the cabinets, and a coffee mug on the counter falls to the floor. You jump, fearful. You stare the broken glass, eyes wide and looking around the room. After a few moments you dash out of the room, out the front door. I remain on the floor, weeping.
I thought you’d be the one Tyler.
I thought you’d see, I JUST NEED YOU TO SEE WHAT HE DID.
I NEED THE DOOR OPENED.
You left a few days ago, you moved out fast, Tyler. I saw you, but you never saw me. And now I wait, wait for someone else to move in.
Maybe then, I’ll see them of course, but perhaps the next person will see me.