The Precipice
The Precipice
Friday, 05.01.2007. 1123 hours.
I know I'm not the only one. But at the very least, you've been honest with me so far as I can tell. And at least in this, I've entered with my eyes open. With my eyes wide open. I'm not sure, though, if I wanna know how many there are. I suppose I have no right to ask who it is that you love, though I have perhaps every right to ask who it is that you touch. And yet I'm not asking. Not yet, at least. Perhaps I'm not sure I want to know.
Jury's still out on whether accidents are mistakes. Just as, jury's out on whether loving someone and being in love with someone is one and the same. And yet, what's not to love about you?
You make me laugh. Your touch sears. You dug a hole and crawled under my skin.
You're dangerous. He may have filled me with longing, but you drag it out of me. You bring it to the surface. You make me yearn for something I do not know and hence cannot name.
I may have been climbing the mountain all this while but you take me to the peak, show me the view and then bring me to the precipice.
One shove, and I shall be falling, quickly, quickly into the swirling, churning vortex of darkness below. The abyss of unknowns. It beckons. Like a siren song.
Friday, 05.01.2007. 1123 hours.
I know I'm not the only one. But at the very least, you've been honest with me so far as I can tell. And at least in this, I've entered with my eyes open. With my eyes wide open. I'm not sure, though, if I wanna know how many there are. I suppose I have no right to ask who it is that you love, though I have perhaps every right to ask who it is that you touch. And yet I'm not asking. Not yet, at least. Perhaps I'm not sure I want to know.
Jury's still out on whether accidents are mistakes. Just as, jury's out on whether loving someone and being in love with someone is one and the same. And yet, what's not to love about you?
You make me laugh. Your touch sears. You dug a hole and crawled under my skin.
You're dangerous. He may have filled me with longing, but you drag it out of me. You bring it to the surface. You make me yearn for something I do not know and hence cannot name.
I may have been climbing the mountain all this while but you take me to the peak, show me the view and then bring me to the precipice.
One shove, and I shall be falling, quickly, quickly into the swirling, churning vortex of darkness below. The abyss of unknowns. It beckons. Like a siren song.
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