Falling

You are the fulcrum
and I sit, precariously balanced on the tip. But, you see, I'm rarely precariously balanced on anything.

Solid thoughts, solid opinions, solid goals. I never took pointe in my days of ballet. No, not me. Certain and sure about everything... until you came along, and suddenly,

I was sure of nothing.

Nothing except for the fact that there was a tall, long needle on the top of the Empire State Building. And I had to climb it, the only structure left in a gaping, black abyss.

So I did, my bare knuckes gripping the rusty grooves of that needle
in the hot, stale air, in the frosty, numbing cold
inch
by
inch
until I started falling.


Falling, splashing, swimming, drowing, grasping, slipping, falling.


Falling for you
Falling from you
The crazy thing is, I never knew which it was,
only that, somehow, I was falling because of you.

-