As a child, i use the fall down the stairs a lot, scratch that, i use to fall down a lot as a whole, walking from classroom through classroom,
getting out the car, at my home, at the airport, at my dad's but everything seemed to fall apart there so i didn't give it any thought, it was like my coordination was obsessed with gravity, my skin happy to be feeling someone's else's embrace, even if it opened little waterfalls that smelled like pennies, people started calling me an attention seeker, i was , i used to tell stories for every little scar the concrete left for me, i got tired of people asking me and the only answer i had was "i tripped", one time i told the kids in my class room that i got a scar jumping out of a window and falling on a car, i got bullied for the rest of the school year.
i still didn't understand why my body was clearly tormenting me, i felt like i was caged, and i didn't have any control over what hurts me, only the words that come after.
should i try to make them laugh? should i cry at this wound that's clearly painful?
should i make a run for it? no, that'll give gravity another chance to caress my skin and drink from this fountain that from disgrace it's running.
running faster than my body hits the ground usually hand first, hands that don't scar anymore, there's no more vacant room.
I'm not proud of it, of falling, of being riddled with an endless love between my knees and the swift but stinging pain alcohol has brought into the mix.
Falling is such a profound word that i didn't know i was falling in love with you until your arms cushioned my fall
and from then on i knew falling wasn't a curse.