seated on the back
of your motorcycle,
I held onto you
a little too tight.

you laughed
at my fear.

but what you didn't know
was that I wasn't afraid
of letting go and falling
and hurting myself.

I was afraid because
for my whole life,
letting go of things meant
never seeing them again.

I was afraid that
if I loosened my grip,
you would drive away
and you would be gone.

injuries are temporary
and skin always heals,
but sometimes
heartbreak doesn't.

I wasn't afraid
of broken bones
or bloodied clothes.

I was afraid
of losing you

because I knew
that losing you would
hurt far worse than
scrapes and bruises.