You and I function like a seesaw
on a children's playground.

When I am on top of the world,
you are at your lowest point.
Crying and sputtering words.
Hope and desperation etched in your voice,
like the initialed heart carvings on the swing sets nearby.

And when I hit my low,
alone in my room feeling nothing but sorry for myself,
you rest.
Happy that I too,
fall down sometimes.

The balance is what I yearn for.
I so badly wish that we could sit with our legs
just barely brushing the wood chips below.

When level,
we could both disembark from this see saw
and embrace to look for somewhere else to be.
The swings, perhaps.