Before you found me, people would pause and stare. Some seemed pleasant. Some were a bit too picky in my opinion. I fervently wished that someone would take me home with them, to a place where I could make others feel welcome. I was good at welcoming people, after all. Every time someone stopped to look at me, I waited patiently while secretly hoping that this would be the day. It wasn’t meant to be. Up until that day you entered, wearing a blue denim dress and black pumps. It was raining and you had forgotten your umbrella. Your shoes were a mess! You initially didn’t notice me and continued walking past, but as you turned around, I knew it was fate. Perhaps I had the rain to thank for the meeting.
We went home and at first, when you entered the house, you smiled when you saw me. I have never felt so cherished. Over time, save from on rainy days – like the day we met, you stopped seeing me altogether. I eagerly awaited when I heard visitors were coming. I loved to welcome them, but every visitor hardly noticed my presence as they came and went.
I was always within earshot when you and your friends were having a BBQ on the front lawn; or when you and your best friend were having a conversation on the patio, I wished I could tell you to forget about those who wronged you. I liked your friends, yet, the way I tried to make them feel welcome went unnoticed. I had become nothing more than an object for people to wipe the soles of their shoes.
“Look over here! Look at me! Welcome to our humble abode!” I would have shouted if I had voice. But I don’t, and all I can do is wait for the day that someone notices me. I’m lying here, ready to do what I do best, welcoming your guests. That is the lot of a welcome-doormat, I suppose.