The Coming and Going
Like the rain and the morning, the night and the sun, the stars and the moon, he comes and goes. The pitter patter. The silent tip toe. So, I grab.
Like catching a snowflake, or droplets of the rain on your tongue, finding rocks, and seashells, and wanting to keep them with you forever. I grab and cling to the feel of his cool, thin t-shirt. The color of it is white.
Like the clouds, and snow, angel wings and peace, what I imagine Heaven to be. When it’s my turn to go, I think I’ll have a chance up there. But, every time he goes, it feels like my turn is coming. Quicker and getting closer, like when his lips move forward.
Like two rose petals put together on the same stem. Soft and red. Like my heart, before all the fire. More often than not, the fire stings from memories of the past.
Sometimes it’s difficult to escape the past. My memories feel like stepping inside a house with smiles and welcoming arms. The door wide open, with him standing there, grinning at me as I walk inside what feels like my favorite dream.
Soft blue lights dimmed to only show the outlines of two faces reaching for each other. A mirror facing two bodies entwined into one creature created from love. But the mirror here isn’t a gateway to an alternate universe. It’s a mirror - a copy; a reflection of reality. And being with him is the only reality living in seems appealing, or more lively, or what happiness is defined as.
A safe space. Stepping in those doors...it is the only place that exists in time and space. Two bodies entwined into one creature created from love. Two heartbeats synching with a vibrant frequency.
Stepping out of my memories felt like running out of a house set on fire. The fire stung, but so did the sun. Like sunshine, being too close was risky. Being apart was scary.
There was no middle ground, only extremes that wavered back and forth, kept me on my toes long enough for me to feel like I was falling back downwards each time; spiraling into an underground tunnel only he had the light to search with. He rarely came to save me, so climbing became a new learned skill, and then - a habit.
Like the rain and the morning, the night and the sun, the stars and the moon, he comes and goes. So when he's back every time, it feels like standing too close to the edge. Standing too close and waiting for him to push me back downwards, into the tunnel of darkness, I crawled myself out of not too long ago. The heartbeat is a funny sound when it's loud and quick.
When he finally pushes, I grab onto him through his t-shirt and he pushes my wrists off because he's scared of falling. I don't want him to hurt, even if he doesn't care enough to stay. I know how bad it hurts crashing from the fall, so I let him because his heart feels like my own.
