The Fight

How many times must I tell you we are through?
I loved you so long and yet I stand in the doorway fighting you,
Telling you to go away.
Not long before this moment,
I sat in the bathroom telling myself how much I was better off without you,
Not knowing I would have to repeat this ritual yet again today.
Too long have I allowed you to stand on my stoop and profess your love,
And too long I lingered next to my door,
Fighting myself,
Arguing as to why I shouldn't go to you.
The weak girl in me says run into your arms and forgive you,
When the strong girl is reminding me of the pain and anguish you put me through.
As time passes,
You eventually disappear.
I can back away from the door and return to my life.
But part of me will always be at that end of the door,
Praying you don't come back.