When we were young enough to still believe in rebellion,
You used to leave the backdoor open to your parent’s home,
so that I could sneak in beside you at night.

I used to dream that we would run away together,
Flashing city lights swirling around us and your hand tucked neatly
into mine.

We were
so
f.ucking
youngandnaïve
and we never had the strength to break away

But every night you left that back door open,
With the light on and the promise
of bigger things to come,
I was already running down that wide-open highway
That we dreamed we would eventually find.

When I was eighteen years old and feeling reckless, I would drink until my mind would switch off –
asking friends to remind me where I was and how to find my way home.
I would wake up with the blinds pulled shut,
A glass of water poised by my nightstand and my phone
filled with messages to you.

I used to get so drunk when I was eighteen that I wouldn’t remember
My own name
but I would always remember that I missed you.

It’s been years now since we’ve called each other home,
lending our hearts out only when things got too lonely
Or the rent on someone else’s climbed too high

And I don’t need to run away with you anymore,
My heart has found its own stretches of sky

But I still answer the phone
each time you call me,
I still smile when I drive past your house.

I like knowing that your soul still has a wilderness
after all of these years have passed us by

And just in case it ever wants one last rebellion,
I still leave the door open for you in my heart.

—Heidi Priebe, My Heart Is a House of Open Doors