When you ask her, “You’re not going to disappear again, are you?”
you know the answer before she ever parts those red, perfect lips.
She will say “no” and then she will leave you again.
Even faster than the time before.
This is the way she is built.
She is not the person she wants to be. (None of us are.)
But she keeps saying the things you want to hear. (They all do.)
And you listen
You always listen.
(If it is not her voice, it is that of another Siren.)
And you fall.
This is the way of your love (your silly, restless, wonderful love)
which can’t resist any cliff, any plunge, so addicted to the free fall
and the possibility that the weight of this life could become weightless, if only for a few moments.
But it’s always a long, long way down, and the price is ever more than you expect,
no matter how many times you feel your foot step onto air itself.
You jump anyway.
The description matters not,
just the magnificent wind blowing over your shoulders as the sky tries to hold you.
This is worth everything.
But the sky, oh the sky is never as strong as it is beautiful. This is not the sky’s fault.
It is not anyone’s fault.
Coolness becomes your world.
Then your head bobs above the water. You breathe in, and cry.
And already you know you will leap again.
There are so many cliffs trying to hold back the ocean.
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