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End of an era.
A sharp rhythmic knock at the front door jolted Micah from his dazed staring out the large windows. There was something hypnotic about rain pattering against the glass that could be experienced in no other circumstance in the world. It was on days like this that Micah easily lost himself to his thoughts, placing his cheek against the cool surface as a sharp and steady reminder that this was indeed the present.
He padded over to the front door and swung it open without hesitation. Micah turned his back to the figure on his doorstep. He felt the words that had been poised like a venomous barb on the tip of his tongue for days rise to strike. A sharp pang through his chest had the vicious words disappear in a heartbeat. Instead, he mumbled, "You said you'd be back in a week."
The guest sighed. A sound Micah knew all too well. He wished he didn’t. He wished this guest was a stranger.
"I know. I'm sorry. I got delayed," they whispered. Exhaustion haunted their tone, but Micah couldn’t find it within himself to care.
"Mh-hm. You gonna stand out there in the cold all night, or you coming in?" he asked. Without waiting for a response, Micah continued the trek back to his window seat, allowing the visitor to let themselves in.
The door closed with a whisper.
Perched precariously on the cushioned window ledge, Micah rested his cheek on the glass once again. He focused his thoughts on the chilled sensation that spread slowly to his skin. Ice was much easier than fire. Before the knock at the door, Micah had been overwhelmed by the burning inside himself. He’d raged. He’d cried. He’d come up with several creative and devastating ways to insult the person now trying to quietly hang up their dripping raincoat on the hooks in the entryway.
There’s a vulnerability in fire, though. While the burn can be mighty and harmful, it is at its core chaotic. The fire comes from a place of hurt. Sharp words and fast fists can only hide the internal terror for so long until the flame consumes even the wielder. Chaos begets chaos. Micah’s unanticipated time alone had been the perfect fuel for an enraged fire.
He wasn’t alone now.
Now, the person who had caused this hurt was back.
Micah didn’t want to be...
He padded over to the front door and swung it open without hesitation. Micah turned his back to the figure on his doorstep. He felt the words that had been poised like a venomous barb on the tip of his tongue for days rise to strike. A sharp pang through his chest had the vicious words disappear in a heartbeat. Instead, he mumbled, "You said you'd be back in a week."
The guest sighed. A sound Micah knew all too well. He wished he didn’t. He wished this guest was a stranger.
"I know. I'm sorry. I got delayed," they whispered. Exhaustion haunted their tone, but Micah couldn’t find it within himself to care.
"Mh-hm. You gonna stand out there in the cold all night, or you coming in?" he asked. Without waiting for a response, Micah continued the trek back to his window seat, allowing the visitor to let themselves in.
The door closed with a whisper.
Perched precariously on the cushioned window ledge, Micah rested his cheek on the glass once again. He focused his thoughts on the chilled sensation that spread slowly to his skin. Ice was much easier than fire. Before the knock at the door, Micah had been overwhelmed by the burning inside himself. He’d raged. He’d cried. He’d come up with several creative and devastating ways to insult the person now trying to quietly hang up their dripping raincoat on the hooks in the entryway.
There’s a vulnerability in fire, though. While the burn can be mighty and harmful, it is at its core chaotic. The fire comes from a place of hurt. Sharp words and fast fists can only hide the internal terror for so long until the flame consumes even the wielder. Chaos begets chaos. Micah’s unanticipated time alone had been the perfect fuel for an enraged fire.
He wasn’t alone now.
Now, the person who had caused this hurt was back.
Micah didn’t want to be...
