Rejection.

The door is closed.
It seems unopenable, impenetrable, immovable;
it doesn't really matter that it was closed inch by inch
until the last crack of light disappeared,
instead of slammed shut in an instant;
it is closed for now.
The phone buzzes.
It's a final word from a former friend,
words of anger, words that pierce;
"I don't like what you said, I won't be your friend,"
the message sinks past defenses to the vulnerable heart;
will it stay that way?
Avoided glances.
This hurts almost more than the words that were spoken,
a constant reminder of friend torn asunder,
and the heart wants to harden, to strengthen defenses,
to numb all the hurts,
yet it remains open.