there is a door that grows smaller every time i step closer to it. i first saw this door three years ago. it was as big as the atlantic ocean. i walked down the same hallway for three years. the door was an ocean, then a continent, then a country, then a state, then a city, then a house with three windows and another door, a smaller one with stained glass. now it is the size of my pinky toe. when i reach the end of this hallway i think it will be nothing but an atom. i will lose this door. i keep walking. you are a door that grows smaller every time i step closer to it. the space between us is a hallway i walked down for three years. you were an ocean and now you are the nail of my smallest toe. i think it’s safe to say i will never know you.