I have been here before.

I have seen you before.

Oh, I know you.

And though your name may change and your appearance is altered, it does not change the fact I know you.

I've met you twice before, and twice before I've let you wound me and I've given you the beautiful performance that you've desired. I have given you everything you have wanted twice before, and you have murdered me for it, twice before.

I can hear the clicks sound like thunder and there is a one in six chance, they tell me. I am more sure of my own hand than yours, and I have resolved not to let you lay your hand upon me in this way. Twice was enough, though you do not recall these experiences.

Sneering, edging my foot forward as you approach, the temperature drops around me as my friendly countenance drops to something raw, primal.

"Let me in!" Why? Of all the things to ask of me, I could give you anything but this easily. I should let you in, so in your carelessness you can swing your hand about and knock over a vase. You can leave the burner on and a hotmitt ontop the stove, soon enough setting the house on fire. You can involve yourself in some meaningless task outside of the house and leave the water in the bathroom running. You were planning to soak, but something came up. There are cracks in the walls and the windows let the chill in too easy, but a short scribbled note explains you had to be elsewhere though the reason and meaning are lost on me.

I am cleaning up the glass pieces, putting out the flames, drying the flooded rooms, and making desperately needed repairs. I clean house before you come back, and sometimes you catch me midway and demand to know what has happened. I can't very well tell you that it is all your fault when you've got such a beautiful smile on your face, or your voice is laced with tenderness that makes my aggression fade and forgiveness surface instantaneously.

And so, after a moment's pause- though it may feel like an eternity, I welcome you back into my home and wrap my arms 'round you. My embrace is full of... grace and my feelings are not spoken, but heard in my tone. You don't know what you are to me, underneath my hands.

[Your "I love you" gets me through the days and nights. My "I love you" makes me want to...]