You just shoveled your way in. It was a dark, deep and whispered effort. Don't tense up. Just relax and let me in... I yielded. So many times. Your garden was us kids, and you were such a busy planter. Did you ever count on the harvest? Neither did I.
That seed took root. It grew in my heart and in my brain for years before I recognized it. I tried to ignore it, but the tendrils grew inside me, prying apart my integrity. I tried to hack it away, it just grew back stronger and thicker. Did you ever anticipate the thicket of thorns that would grow from what you planted? I suppose neither of us did at the time.
But, gee, you should see this. You really should.
So I picked some of that harvest. For you. Don't worry - there is plenty. I won't run out any time soon. It just keeps growing. So dark and thorny and thick. So painful to hold.
And so when I come knocking, don't close your door to me. I certainly couldn't close my door to you.
.....Just relax and let me in.
.........Be brave. Like I was.
.............Look me in the eyes if you dare. I won't blink.
.................And see what you planted.