Time to...

He was on the verge of the second offense just as they knocked on the door. He shuddered with shock when this suddenly reality came to him. The room was dim, the wall clock submerged the silence in its dry beating as a metallic scent empowered itself within the space, staining everything the same color of a twilight storm. At five minutes to midnight, the hands regressed, and his world traveled back to dusk. Everything was motionless, a still-frame from all angles, loaded with the tides of suffocation and knots and viscous red dampness. His palms were stained, still glowing with the last rays of light coming through the blinds. Who could be knocking on the other side of the door, at this hour, at such an inopportune moment? It had been a long time since anyone had visited that door. In all those years of solitude, passing one at a time with the slowness of a monochromatic tone to yet another shade of gray, the waiting became pathologically dramatic, humanly miserable. There are no sad moments for a man, when that moment sits on his tongue and has only one flavor. They are called by another name.
The blows fell again, insistent, as if they could peer through walls and see what was happening inside. The guilt took shape with every impact of those invisible knuckles. A treacherous guilt. Squatting in the center of the room, he exhaled a sigh, his head resting on his chest, and his hands fell on a pool of tears which signified his expiation. The third blow was incorporated with the decision that imposes an ultimatum. He walked to the door thinking chaotically about everything, but with a kind of background happiness, a certain joy to find his long-awaited visitor. With each step there were a thousand hypotheses, a thousand possible answers to his intrigue, a thousand and one times he was displeased with them. There was only one possibility for his happiness to be complete, and he hoped it would come true. His real crime would have been to give up that yearning. When he finally opened the door, there stood the answer he was waiting for. One part of him lay limp in the middle of the room, the other extended his hand to the figure that beckoned him out of exile. He closed the door behind himself and never remembered to return.

Hope you like it.