Loving deep is a daily reminder of death.
I see it when I touch you,
it flashes through my fingertips.
A reminder of dwindling youth.
Can I really fit it all in?
Paralyzed by the ever present paranoia of watching you die,
covered by drooping eyelids,
I'll hold your hand and tell you it will be okay.
A swirl of gray, time passing by and wrinkling our dreams.
Where is the beauty in that?
You don't see things the same way.
The loss and confusion, the ever present uncertainty
are alien to you.
Like a foreign tongue or far-flung land.
Those are the peaks and valleys I have traveled,
ones that are familiar and have left me road weary,
easily frightened by the great grief I know I can feel.
Split down the middle,
polar opposites,
dark and light.
Perfect, and yet, not quite right.
Call it a tangent,
to much wine...
it is paralyzing nonetheless.

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