As I sit here, thinking of nothing, but everything. I decided that things I had been thinking about for far too long needed to be said. This is no introduction to a new world to meet new characters. This is the same world, but with new chapters, a new playground to jump around and explore. But dangerous, and incredibly foreboding. 

I, unfortunately, think a lot. And while I work or in my free time, I think of people—some people, in particular, some not. But I decided that the space they take up is too large. 

One person, recently, had taken up a little too much space, to the point of them starting to move their things in, shove the dust bunnies under the rug, and place their coasters under the lamp on the side tables. They've gotten quite comfortable. And as they roam around my space, they pick at things that are mine, such as my temper, emotions, and thoughts. They start rummaging through the old books of things I thought I had forgotten, but apparently, I had not. 

They begin reading my insecurity out loud, so I can hear them. I begin to think too much as the old things are once again been made anew, and so I lock them in their own room, where they can't play with my stuff because they are mine! The emotions I have locked away for far too long are lost once more to the drawers and under the rug with the bunnies to not be found again. 

It isn't too long before they knock on the door again, as I weep on the ground, wondering if the thoughts of them or my insecurities will escape the places that I once kept them. Soon, they leave too. And I missed them. I missed the company, the thought of possibly someone else invading, cleaning, putting their drinks on the coaster under the lamp on the side table. 

As days pass by, more people slip comfortably into the place I called my own, also rummaging through the things as if it was their own, do I stop them? Some of them I do, but some of them I don't. Because I want them to know the emotions, the feelings, the insecurities. Because they're gentle with them. As if it were their own as well. 

And instead of having just a coaster, there's a mug, a picture frame next to it, and a couch where we could sit and I could think about them all day long... until... they overstay. They touch far too many things and have way too many coasters, and I feel sick. The smell, the thought of them hurts to think about "Out!" I say with too much force, and they don't want to... but they do. They do leave. But they too leave behind books of everything that we did, said, and made together. I place the new memories in the drawer in the side table. And I try my best to clean and make it new until someone else comes and stays, and leaves and the cycle never ends. But after each one, there was a knock at the door, sometimes I would leave it be, and for others I would peek just to see who it was. It was the same Man, someone I knew to be trustworthy, who would stay, and be kind to the things that were mine, spray something nice into the atmosphere, and I told Him to leave, but come back soon. I liked He was there, but it was clean again, I didn't need Him anymore. 

More people came, and they all too left books, and notebooks, and mugs and coasters under my lamp on the side table. And as I try my best to clean it up, my hands cut up, bruised and battered, I wonder... it is far too messy in here, will anyone want to stay here ever again? Is my space far too messy for anyone to think about staying? Am I far too messy with the memories, thoughts, emotions that have crumpled and attempted to be thrown away, birthdays forgotten, and those people who stayed who rearranged?

"No." The same Man says, a smile in His voice as He knocks on the door. I knew who it was, so I go to the door. Someone who I had perhaps thrown out too many times that I didn't think would come back. But I let Him in. He looks at the mess, the books, notebooks, the couch, the rug with the dust bunnies underneath, and the coaster under the lamp on the side table with far too many mugs, and He sighs, and He smiles. "May I?" 

I nod as He begins to pick up everything that I thought was out of place. He starts looking through the notebooks and something in the room shifts. He closes the books, keeping them there, but there's a newness to them. They have an afterglow I've only seen some things have. 

He goes to another and looks at me. I nod. He does this to every book, except for a few that I had forgotten were under the rug.  Tears welled in my eyes, as I thought that each book was something that I thought I couldn't clean up. There were some that were too heavy to place on the shelf, and some I didn't want to move because they hurt too bad and gave cuts and blisters. 

"That was hard, I know. But you gave me permission. And now, you're free to invite people in again."

He heads for the door before I call to Him, "Wait! Don't leave. I can't do it without you." 

His smile changes to laughter, and comes over to me and hugs me. "Good, because I didn't want to leave either." And He stays, and I hold His hand when new people come in and as they leave books, He takes them instead and places them on the shelf that He built in my space above the lamp on the side table. 

And I wonder who will come in next, and will they stay?