When You Have to Go In

The taillights go red.

That's when I know.

I've been standing out here

for twenty minutes,

waiting for—

I don't even know.

The mail.

My nerve.

The light to stay long enough

that I could pretend

I wasn't avoiding the door.

But the neighbor's car pulls out

and those red lights

catch the last sun

and suddenly it's not about waiting anymore.

Suddenly it's about

the moment you run out of excuses,

the moment the world moves on

without you,

and you have to follow.

I go in.