My brick walls are feeling more like glass doors. Easy to peer in and study what’s on the other side but I keep the door locked at all times. Afraid if I leave it open for more than a second, someone might slip in. They’ll pick up the book I left on the shelf and ever so quietly read all my thoughts, my hardships, my aspirations, my likes and dislikes, my dreams and slowly close the book after a few chapters and leave. They’ll have peered into my soul and decided that I wasn’t their favorite genre anymore. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I lock the deadbolt as soon as their feet hit the other side of the concrete. Though, there are a few who are patient. Instead of waiting for the door to be left unlocked, they inquire from the outside and lean against the wall. They walk slowly in, once I’ve taken out my keys and flipped over the “open” sign. They’ve been taking in all the parts of me that weren’t tucked away. Intrigued by the cover, they’ll pick up the same book. Instead of leaving, they put a book mark in and wave to me and say “I’ll be back tomorrow!”. Day after day, they show up picking up where they left off. Never once exchanging the book, they’ll sit there with my soul in their hands. Reading line after line and never once getting bored. Overtime, I’ll learn to leave the door unlocked and allow these few, with their hearts tied to mine, allow them in at all times, and on every occasions. Rain or shine, these few people will continue to pick up my book and claim it’s their favorite story.