I hesitate before I open my bedroom door, but there is a need for coffee and the bathroom. My hand is on the knob. I take a breath that is more of a sigh. What will I find on the other side?
I hope I am wrong and today is a bright one, but more than likely, on the other side of the door, I will find dead and despondent eyes. A head that drops when I speak. A hand that wearily rises to block the eyes from seeing me. An action well practiced.
She will be sitting at the kitchen table , a pad full of numbers, stacks of overdue bills. The smell of an overflowing ashtray combining with the stench of despair. I can taste it. Chronic, chronic, chronic pain. snap, snarl, bite. Words are useless items when depression takes your sight.
It doesn't help to know that someone may be hesitating just outside my own bedroom door.
I turn and go back to my bed. Maybe I can hold off for just a moment more.
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As Hope and Promise Fade - Chris Cornell
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