The Child Still Stands by the Door

The Child Still Stands by the Door

I used to stare at the crack of the door.
There was always something in that space.

It was a sound that suggested someone is coming.

Or it was the silence that says no one ever will.

The door was closed,
and I couldn’t open it.
Maybe it was because I learned too early
that those things were for grown-ups.
Or maybe…
because I was afraid no one would be there if I did.

I hid many emotions when I was young.
I didn’t say I missed anyone.
I didn’t say I was waiting.
Instead, I practiced looking okay.
I learned to smile,
because I thought that’s how love worked.

Looking back,
I realize I was a child with the face of waiting—
always facing someone,
yet never fully seen.

I am older now,
but that child still lives inside me.
Sometimes, when I fall silent
or stare blankly into the distance,
it’s him—still standing by the door.

This space is for him.
And maybe, for the child in you too.
The one who never said what they needed.
The one who kept their face tucked away.

You don’t have to speak just yet.
You can simply stay here.
I’ll go first.
Gently, slowly—
telling the story
so his face doesn’t disappear.