Slowly falling – too slow, it almost feels like floating; hovering
above coping, breathing through the ache like lotion rubbed
into open wounds. These scars know softness by scent,
not by touch.
Forgetful motion, passive emotions — _a tug-of-war_ between
what I feel and what I should feel. Suppose we spend the rest
of our lives together — suppose we raise children with dreams
we never had the courage to chase, and wisdom we never got
to learn. Would we both smile, pretending not to notice
the cracks under our feet?
Suppose we kiss — and I felt so unprepared to meet something
that feels more prepared to meet me. Your lips, a sermon
I can’t quite believe in; mine, the confession I never finish.
Suppose we go out to dinner, a restaurant dimly lit with
expectations. I serve my fears, my hopes, my half-eaten faith
on a plate— and you pretend they taste okay.
Would you ask for seconds, or second-guess the meal entirely,
saying you’ll be back in a few seconds but we both know
there won’t be a second date?
Suppose we hold hands, suppose our eyes meet — I flinch first,
every time. Would you still think of me as someone worth
holding on to, when my love language sounds like an apology
in translation?
I’m not afraid of falling — __I’m afraid of landing__. I’m afraid
that love is just gravity rehearsing heartbreak. I’ve never
been this high up, and still somehow this feels like drowning.
So if I don’t call it love, please don’t call it running.
Maybe I’m just moving slow enough to see what I’m losing
before I lose it. Maybe I’m just learning how to fall without
letting go.
Oct 19, 2025
Oct 19, 2025 at 4:12 PM UTC
Slowly falling – too slow, it almost feels like floating; hovering
above coping, breathing through the ache like lotion rubbed
into open wounds. These scars know softness by scent,
not by touch.
Forgetful motion, passive emotions — _a tug-of-war_ between
what I feel and what I should feel. Suppose we spend the rest
of our lives together — suppose we raise children with dreams
we never had the courage to chase, and wisdom we never got
to learn. Would we both smile, pretending not to notice
the cracks under our feet?
Suppose we kiss — and I felt so unprepared to meet something
that feels more prepared to meet me. Your lips, a sermon
I can’t quite believe in; mine, the confession I never finish.
Suppose we go out to dinner, a restaurant dimly lit with
expectations. I serve my fears, my hopes, my half-eaten faith
on a plate— and you pretend they taste okay.
Would you ask for seconds, or second-guess the meal entirely,
saying you’ll be back in a few seconds but we both know
there won’t be a second date?
Suppose we hold hands, suppose our eyes meet — I flinch first,
every time. Would you still think of me as someone worth
holding on to, when my love language sounds like an apology
in translation?
I’m not afraid of falling — __I’m afraid of landing__. I’m afraid
that love is just gravity rehearsing heartbreak. I’ve never
been this high up, and still somehow this feels like drowning.
So if I don’t call it love, please don’t call it running.
Maybe I’m just moving slow enough to see what I’m losing
before I lose it. Maybe I’m just learning how to fall without
letting go.
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