My heart

 

An eager yet terrified feeling overcomes my being, clammy fingers press against the cold glass of my only window. I see person after person pass by the picket fence guarding my heart. Perhaps I need a new paint job, or maybe some more windows so they can see how nice it is inside. But even as the thought forms I decide against it, I don't want to change in order to catch the eye, I want to be searched for. But the people wandering the streets don't look for the house with the picket fence and little red door. I used to have a welcome mat, but it has recently been moved behind the rose bushes because no one bothers to scrape the dirt off their feet on it when they come in. There was this one boy who purposefully coated his shoes with mud just so he could leave marks and stains everywhere. But he did more than that, he sat too heavily on chairs, asked for more and more dessert even though he knew I had no more to give, he even tried to repaint some of the rooms inside. That was the day I hid my welcome mat. The rooms in my heart are now newly refurbished, by me, and look as if he had never stepped foot in them. My furniture is sturdier, the walls are painted in bright colors with darker accents, and are filled with dreams and truth. 

While I contemplated these things, a boy studied me from my window. He went on the tips of his toes, seeking for a better look. He gets closer without noticing where his feet are taking him until he finds himself at the front door. Curiosity pumping in his veins, he knocks three times in even gentle succession. 

I jolt upright at the sound tickling my ears. All coherent thought jumps from my mind, I run down the stairs clad in fuzzy socks with my hair in disarray. I had not expected company today, or any day for that matter. When my feet hit the landing, I slowed my steps and stared unblinkingly at the door. I didn't get a chance to see his shoes when he walked up, what if they are filthy? I want so dearly to let someone in, but determination to keep my house safe solidified my conviction. He will not enter if he cannot follow my rules. 

My fingers wrap around the handle with slow movements, as one might use with a frightened animal, and I cracked the door open just enough to peek through. What I saw before me was not what I had expected. Instead of sharp teeth, I saw a kind and tentative smile. Instead of narrowed and calculating eyes, I felt a gentle and curious gaze. Instead of filthy muddy boots, I noticed a dirty cloth beside his clean dress shoes. 

Hello.