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...she opened the door very slowly and carefully, half hiding behind it, as if badly frightened of what might be waiting for her on the other side. and considering that it was me waiting, this showed rare common sense.
-Jeff Lindsay
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...she Opened The Door Very Slowly And

Jeff Lindsay
...she opened the door very slowly and carefully, half hiding behind it, as if badly frightened of what might be waiting for her on the other side. and considering that it was me waiting, this showed rare common sense.
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Doors Common Sense Waiting

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And she loved a man who was made out of nothing. a few hours without him and right away she’d be missing him with her whole body, sitting in her office surrounded by polyethylene and concrete and thinking of him. and every time she’d boil water for coffee in her ground-floor office, she’d let the steam cover her face, imagining it was him stroking her cheeks, her eyelids and she’d wait for the day to be over, so she could go to her apartment building, climb the flight of stairs, turn the key in the door, and find him waiting for her, naked and still between the sheets of her empty bed.
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At the door , she made him promise to go without goodbyes .she closed the door on him . laila leaned her back against it , shaking against his pounding fists , one arm gripping her belly and a hand across her mouth , as he spoke throughout the door and promised that he would come back for her . she stood there until he tired , until he gave up , and then she listened to his uneven footsteps until they faded , until all was quiet , save for the gunfire cracking in the hills and her own heart thudding in her belly , her eyes , her bones .
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When god gives you a door, if you want access, you go through that door. people didn't like jesus. oh, they had all kind of reasons to hate him but jesus said, "i am the door. any man who enters must come by me. if you don't come by me," he said, "you're a thief and a robber." well, if omarosa manigault is the door to donald trump, well i kind of like that door. that's a pretty door. that's an intelligent door. that's a spiritually rooted door.
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Eventually she came. she appeared suddenly, exactly like she'd done that day- she stepped into the sunshine, she jumped, she laughed and threw her head back, so her long ponytail nearly grazed the waistband of her jeans. after that, i couldn't think about anything else. the mole on the inside of her right elbow, like a dark blot of ink. the way she ripped her nails to shreds when she was nervous. her eyes, deep as a promise. her stomach, pale and soft and gorgeous, and the tiny dark cavity of her belly button. i nearly went crazy.
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Suddenly she felt strong and happy. she was not afraid of the darkness or the fog and she knew with a singing in her heart that she would never fear them again. no matter what mists might curl around her in the future, she knew her refuge. she started briskly up the street toward home and the blocks seemed very long. far, far too long. she caught up her skirts to her knees and began to run lightly. but this time she was not running from fear. she was running because rhett's arms were at the end of the street.
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In a way, her strangeness, her naiveté, her craving for the other half of her equation was the consequence of an idle imagination. had she paints, or clay, or knew the discipline of the dance, or strings, had she anything to engage her tremendous curiosity and her gift for metaphor, she might have exchanged the restlessness and preoccupation with whim for an activity that provided her with all she yearned for. and like an artist with no art form, she became dangerous.
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