Gated

    Complex not Complicated. Enduring not Erratic. Caring not Careless. Comfort not Conflict. Nurturing not Negative. Partners not Protagonists.
    Is this too much to ask? Do I expect too much? Am I such an Introvert and Isolationist that I set the bar too high? Erect walls, build moats, set up a defensive perimeter, hide in defilade. I make forays out into the world, lower my guard, test the waters, and then retreat to my fortress of solitude. Are my expectations of an ally unreasonable? I like to think not. But it seems when I open the gate, lower the drawbridge and invite company inside so begins the inevitable assault from within. My fortress is sheer stone wall on the impenetrable exterior, but the interior is soft, crumbling shale, easily broken, shattered and crushed beneath careless boots. Do I refuse entry? Do I set a vanguard, suspicious of any who may ask entrance? Shackle visitors? Disarm them? Hold them at bay? Or should I continue to give them free access to all the nooks and crannnies, dark corners, hidden passages?
    I have become quite the expert at renovation, remodeling and repair. My internal skills grow with each encounter. I sweep up the debris, carefully patch breaches, rebrick, replace mortar, repaint, hang tapestries over scars. After each rejuvenation I have a period of time when I do not want any visitors bespoiling the freshly renewed interior, but this phase does not last long. The rooms and hallways are quiet, empty, cold and lonely, so I know I will risk it all over again. I just have to convince myself to open the gate.