Gifts

You burn into me and you change me, leave me wanting and desperate, yet all the more complete for my lack. You push me and you pull me into being better, terrifying me that I'll backslide and become worse. I smile and cry simultaneously, shocked by the beauty of the precipice. (Danger has its own appeal.)

I'm not sure if silence is the eye of the storm or an indication that there is no storm at all. I fill the emptiness with the sounds of forever, only to discover that there's a fair bit of the minor keys in them. Flight is often mistaken for falling and falling identified as taking flight, to the point that I'm not sure anyone knows which is which, or even if there's any difference.

I used to make a point of distinguishing possibilities from promises, of saying that a kiss was just a kiss. I'm no longer sure such distinctions are fair. We have to have indications of where we stand, and words have proven more subject to change than sand. So possibilities are not promises, but they could be. (That's why we call them "possible.")

If you're always leaning back and never leaning forward, eventually the other person will fall out of their seat. From there, they usually walk away. It's all very well to see what you're getting before you give any back, but people stop giving if they're getting nothing for their pains. Make it a process, not a step. (It's rather mercenary, but there you go.)

I'm standing at the edge of the precipice with you burned into me, leaning forward as you lean back. It's a possibility that I might promise you flight, even as silence heralds a storm. I'm wanting something I may never receive, and half of me is okay with that. You've already given me something, already changed me - a kiss has never meant so much.