Falling

Falling for you has been like a looping dream of endless falling into pitch blackness.

Like never having a moment to pull myself to the surface from under the waves.

Like a stubbed toe against a bed railing; it throbs red hot as I inhale a sharp breath.

Falling for you is like tripping over a rock only to land on my face with busted, swollen lips.

They see it all over my face. Everyone knows you’ve left your mark.

It’s kind of like an obstructed airway; eyes wide, suspended in time, waiting for my next breath.

Will it come?

Falling for you is being tied to a medieval torture device, pulling, stretching, ripping me into two.

It’s a javelin to the heart, surgery without anesthesia.

It’s a migraine in the dead of night. I can’t hear, see, think of anyone but you.

It’s an inferno of jealousy that rages white hot every time you mention her to me.

Falling for you is to grovel at your feet never looking up.

It’s to walk one step behind to gladly watch you shine.

How Virginia Woolf would scoff at my behavior!

Falling for you is to bow before you as if you were my King, my God.

It’s the banana dance, some times wild and erratic, yet full of humor and life.

Anything to see you smile and hear you laugh.

It’s listening to Canon in D in the middle of a forest with a bed of cinnamon, amarillo and cafe coloured leaves that begs to be dove into while staring up at the sun.

Falling for you was fast and hard, like jumping off the Empire State building, meeting an inevitable end.

I wouldn’t take back the falling, tripping or devastation. These are the things I do for love and if asked to do it again, I’d recklessly answer yes.

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