As a child, I used to fall down a lot, 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 A second 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 am.
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 the fountain Of youth,
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