The Doorway

What would happen, if instead of running—we both decided to stay?
A door we locked years ago that’s somehow now left slightly ajar.
How many times can we repeat the same cycle of mistakes
before one decides the prize is no longer worth the cost of the stakes?

“You know the definition of insanity, right?”
My cheeks, a vibrant scarlet, as I look at the floor.
I could make a run for it—
my hand, mentally, already on the knob of the door,
recounting the steps I took before
that led us into the coldest of wars.

I choose to avoid the soft spots on the wooden floorboards,
escaping the heaviness that creaks from the baseboards.
At this point, I can’t tell who wanted it more—
this chaos I’ve spent ten years trying to explore.
Synchronicities we try not to define,
each one dismissed as something that isn’t a sign—
just a coincidence, just bad timing,
just a version of you I kept rewriting.

But what if the story never needed a plot twist,
never needed a war to make peace exist?
What if the ending wasn’t meant to be clean—
just two broken people choosing something unseen?

And still, I hover in the doorway,
unsure if staying means losing the game.
But maybe the real insanity
was thinking we ever left things the same—
when neither of us ever truly leave.