He wanted her to know. She had to find out. If she didn’t he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. The race to her door was the longest drive he had ever taken in his life. She lived just eight houses down and he counted them like they were physical representations of the stopwatch in his mind, edging him on with urgency.
He got to her door, just like he had practiced over and over again in his head. His hand was out stretched towards it with a little tremor in them like he couldn’t decide if he had the courage to do it.
Just then the door opened, darkness filled the street and she woke up. Each day she had a dream like this. Would anyone ever rush to her door, shaking and hoping she would give him the answer he wanted to hear just as she always hoped.
Has anyone ever run to your door?