Sometime you gotta close the door to open a window.

“It’s hard to juggle through your life.” She says, throwing three oranges at a time.

“Like what you’re doing right now?” He says, face cold and stern. It was supposed to be a joke.

“Hey, don’t be bitter. I was just kidding.” She spares him a glimpse, carelessly speeding up her action. The light fragrances of orange are expanded with the heat in the room. Those oranges are fresh. He knows. He bought them yesterday and brought them home, walking by himself. He felt the oranges are so heavy that he panted at their doorstep. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thought to himself vaguely. He was only 32. You could drive there! She would’ve told him if she knew.

She doesn’t hear his answer, so she just continues, her eyes completely on the oranges. “I can say that again, you know. I can apologize again. For juggling between others and you. I am, really sorry. I appreciate your patience, your care. Even everytime I got off the car, it’s you who closed the door for me.”

Her existence is too big that, like always, it starts to choke him. He turned his back on her just enough so he can breathe again. The wooden door towers him just a few meters away. Something shines beside the door. Yeah, he searched for that frantically in the shopping bag yesterday. How can he lose something again? He remembers blaming himself in silence. He lost that knife, like anything else in his life.

She told him several times. You can always open the door, Jerome. To breathe some fresh air and, you know, just change your mindset.

The knife lies there, suffering from a metal fever caused by the heating system in their house.

“Denise, you know what?” He murmurs, standing up to slowly move towards the entrance.

“Huh?” She stops her actions, picking up the oranges agilely with both hands and her chest.

“Denise.” He mumbles. “Sometime you gotta close the door to open a window.”