I took the gold-looking door handle after pulling back the locks, and drew the door out for her with slight contentment as I watched her walk past me in all her perfectness. I went next, following her into the car to drive her home after a great day of fun. Night was approaching quickly. The drive was slow and emotional, like a rainy night on the road of love. I reached over to her hand at her side and held it with a softness (and at the same time, with a desperate fierceness) that felt to me like the bond created between a dying father and a teary son and as they shared their last moment together at the hospital bed, connected in soul by hand. We continued to drive. Silent in word but deep in contemplation about the times we'd had and what was soon to become, each of us eventually reached an emotional climax as we shared teardrops, the strongest teardrops I'd ever felt. Nearing her house was just as menacing as the words that forewarned me of her departure. Our hands were held in harmony up until the door. I was never one to see into the future. All the same, I could never know the pain I'd feel of abandonment as the beautiful summer days came to an end. From the everyday happiness I got from seeing her, I would soon find myself alone with nobody to hold and connect with. Not even a person to wipe away the tears I cried during those enchanting moments of reminiscence, where I could see her face and feel her smile, and most of all, laugh with her cheery laugh. Our time together would soon total up to a few sentimental experiences captured within the human memory. I knew the feeling all too well. I took the wooden door handle and drew the door out for her with a deep sorrow inside my heart. She looked back at me and waved and whispered the most meaningful "Bye" that'd ever met my ears. Our eyes were together for one last time, and then the wooden door closed slowly until shut. I walked back into the darkness.
You're saying goodbye, at her place, on her doorstep. Most modern doors at residences open inward. So you don't "draw the door out for her" as in the last paragraph. She is inside, and she shuts the door on you. For the person outside to draw the door shut is highly unusual, but possible. Next point: the bond between a dying father and a teary son is nothing like the bond between male and female lovers. Unless there's something you haven't told us.
first of all, no, the door does open outward, and secondly, who are u to say how strong a persons bond is between either their dying father and their departing lover? maybe they're equally as strong
Both bonds may be strong, but one is between father and son, and one is between man and woman, with sexual overtones. To me, these relationships are entirely different, and if I were writing I wouldn't mix them together in a sentence. I don't know what your situation is, of course.
