26 Messages

There is a warm current flowing
between us
as the swinging stops 
just shy of my knee touching yours.
And I wonder what it would take
to give me courage
to push off just a little bit harder.
It’s a game I can play in my sleep -
so close, 
yet out of reach.
The only way to feel safe
is to stand right at the edge. 
 
I don’t know what I might need,
my wings have been clipped
by 26 messages,
and I feel helpless once again
as the stories continue 
writing themselves. 
The authors I've admired
no longer lift up their pens,
and everyone fends for themselves
as the sun sets over the horizon
of lost innocence. 
There are no heroes in these tales - 
just well-intentioned deceit,
shadows and pain,
rivers of grief.
What am I to do
from all the way over here?

I don't know what I need from you,
but I know I want whatever this is,
moving inch by inch 
in every direction,
as we watch the vibrations shift.
I wonder what you’re thinking
as you sit in witness to this unfolding.

I laugh even when I’m at the verge of tears
when there is no soft landing in sight.
Maybe you are my sweet spot
between losing and gaining,
and I’m hesitant
to reach for your hand 
and tuck mine under it
for a brief relief,
a reprieve,
a pass,
just this once,
from all the ghosts haunting me
with those 26 messages. 

How would you respond 
to the merging of energies
if I welcomed the tears to flow in,
dissolving whatever is left 
of guilt 
and heaviness
accumulating over the years,
so 
far
away
from home?
I’d climb out of the abyss
of deep-seated not-enoughness
and surrender to the universe
without resigning to fate.
Sometimes it’s tiring
being my own best friend.
 
I don’t know if there is anything else,
but I know I want this
gentle swaying 
ever so slightly towards you 
and away.
And I want you to stay
a little bit longer
so I can close my eyes to a fading light
and drift off to sleep 
in this hammock under the stars,
with your hand 
on my back,
etching into memory
this poignant summer night.