By: Candice Mazon

when love knocked on my door
after years of absence,
i let it in.
the knock came unexpectedly,
in the middle of washing dishes.
i felt the vibrations from the door,
down to the floor,
and up my spine.

i could’ve sworn i locked the gate.
i never thought anyone would want to come in.

i let love sit across the coffee table,
as i fumbled hellos and offered drinks.
“tea?”
it nodded.
“how have you been?”
i said, with a shaky voice and trembling hands.
it smiled.

i barely recognized it.
it had darker hair,
a different voice.
it liked books now
and talked about its sister.
it laughed more than i remember,
and looked at me in a different way.
did i seem different too?

“you’re welcome to stay.
as long as you want to.”
it nodded again.
the tea kettle whistled.
i grabbed two cups
and watched the hot water pour down
like a waterfall.

i looked back at love
while it stared out the window
and i wondered
if visitors ever stayed forever,
if forever was always a limited set of horizons,
if horizons ever enticed people away
to leave whatever
or whoever
they called home.