That moment, when you realise you’re about to fall. That slither of time when it could have been prevented, when you could have been saved, evaporated. It’s inevitable.
What if that moment, is continual? Looped. Frozen. A perpetual state of falling.
The moment you realise you’re drowning, too far gone to resurface yet paralyzed with the inevitability.
It’s like waiting to die.
It’s like waiting to live.
Parenting on a tightrope.
Why must it be a battle of push and shove? The petrifying grab or let go?
That tango of wills daring each other to the edge.
I’m terrified I can’t save you.
And that you can’t save yourself.
From being pushed.
Unable to decipher the intentions of my flailing arms.
I’m desperate for them to save you.
I’m stupefied they’ll let you go.
It’s not supposed to be this hard.
To love you.
If you’re waiting for me to stop
I can’t not love you.
I won’t not love you.