Porch

Love got me and I was sick with it. For a week I waited for you under the porch outside your front door. Either you stayed inside all that time or you found another way out somehow but I never saw you, not once.
You knew I was there, of course. For the first two days I wouldn’t let you forget it, I banged so hard on all the panes of glass I could find on the front of your house, almost howling for you when the night came. Your neighbours threatened with police calls but they never made them. They just stood and stared pityingly through gaps in curtains.
On the third day I fell silent and just sat, waiting and thinking about how there was no way I could live without you, and that sitting outside your door until I could make you realise that was my only possible option.
On the morning of the forth day, I woke to find a sandwich wrapped up in cling-film with a note that said ‘Eat this, then go away.’ I couldn’t decide if you had disguised your writing or if it was from one of the neighbours. I ate it but I stayed.
The fifth and sixth days were very cold and wet. It rained a lot and the wind was blowing it under the porch. Late afternoon of the sixth day I thought about giving up and going home but that thought was immediately replaced by the certainty that if I did that, I’d probably never see you again. So I stayed.
On the seventh day, I woke to you standing over me. The rain had stopped and all was still.

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