You know the one?
Where I am walking a tightrope, hundreds of miles up in the air, between two oceans and my heavy body swaying violently from left to right as I am slowly losing my balance trying not to fall into the waters we used to wash away our sins.
I can feel the wind running wildly through my hair as I am looking down despite the cliché advice people tell you when they know you're afraid of heights.
But I can't help it.
I see you all the way down there, sweeping the floor of your empty living room because you refuse to keep any furniture. That's where you and I cross our legs in silent protest against those who think floors were made only for standing.
Our little sandbox. Where you and I talk like we get paid weekly to do so. That's probably why you keep them so clean.
You say 'Maybe' a lot.
I think 'Maybe' is this little alternate universe shaped like a handbag where we shovel all the things we don't feel like dealing with after your morning coffee.
Maybe that's why we're so happy.
You don't even like coffee. You just like what it does to your body. You take your milk and sugar with coffee.
While our time together may be a happy memory to look back on, I'm wildly distracted by mother nature laying waste to my hair as if I didn't just spend a whole 45 minutes getting it just right.
It's cold up here.
I finally lost my balance. Simply because you looked up at me and smiled and in so doing, balloon on the loose, there I went.
And now I am met with a mouthful of salt.
All I give you are middle fingers like ornaments, gifts for you to only look at and you smile anyway, you smile for the both of us because I am hiding mine and you know how bad I am at doing that.
Luckily you taught me how to swim.
Just a young one.
