No More Hiding

Footholds.

And never mind the fact that I hold both my hurting, bleeding heart and your desperate hand in my sweating, clammy, weakening grasp,

I know it's too late to save both, impossible really.

For which the fact that if I save my heart I'd be force to let go of your hand and leave you behind. I'd be forced to live without you, face life with emotions, knowing what I've done. Forced to bear new friendships, find lovers, bear children, cry on someone else's shoulder all with your ghost on my shoulder. What is life without  best friends?

But if I save you from the cliff you hang off of, from the harsh, pounding, thrashing waters from below, the sharpened spears of rock, the sharks that wait, mouths open, teeth razor sharp and smiling, I'd have no choice but to use both hands, and my heart would die out.

I'd have a life with you by my side, but one without emotions. One where you would be near, trying to pretend like nothing's wrong and no sacrifices were made, one where you would try your best to include me. What is life without feeling?

And I'm conflicted.

Because you're all I've known, a comfort, and my heart is something I know I need but somehow dulls in comparison of you, what I thought was my Angel, savior, happiness, joy, soul mate.

For when I threw everything away for you, including myself, reassuring myself I still felt physically if never emotionally, I never noticed how you stood perfectly fine with footholds.

-D.