I had a boyfriend once, long long ago before reality set in. I loved that guy.  I can’t give him an alias. I don’t know him well enough, and I know him too well. His name began with D.
He wouldn’t, couldn’t do something that I asked. He wasn’t mature enough. His revelation felt like rejection to me. From there on out, our relationship was a downward spiral. It’s okay. We were just not ready for each other.
But that rejection started a process for me. I’ll call it closing. For a while I was no good to him, or to myself. We broke up.
It was horrible for me. I had given him a room in my heart. It was a nice comfy room, with sofas and chairs, a game table, lots of windows so the sun could pour in. Friends could come and go whenever they wanted. Books lined shelves on the walls and music was always on. He sang to me. I loved that room. I liked that room. That room was interesting.
Then I felt that to survive, I had to board that room up. The pain of leaving the door open was too much for me to bear. So I went to Home Depot. I bought the lumber, the nails, the hammer with money that I borrowed from Geoff. I rented the truck, and I loaded it myself, all the time cursing and swearing because it was so much work.
I brought the lumber in, and I did the work. I boarded up that beautiful room. I left one little crack, and every once in a while, I went and peeked in. Guy with dark hair and brown eyes from afar at a concert? Oh! A glimpse of the sun through that tiny hole.
Lately, I don’t look through the hole anymore. I didn’t need to once I added three more sunny rooms to my heart. I’ve added a lot of great nooks, too. Ones that I think D. would really like if I worked up the courage to do some more demo work.
