date night

September 26, 2011 Candace Morris 5 Comments

photo


She keeps taking hits.
Her beauty fleets and shies.
Her jeans don't fit, her face scarred.
She weeps openly and freely, but they both know
[by jove, they have both learned
that as much as they both want to let him swoop in
and romance her back to a thin, young place]
That she must do the work.

She started with him in tandem, driving.
They progressed to one hand holding the seat, training wheels trepidatiously removed.
But still, he was there,
Ready in an instant to shatter the facade of her independence,
If she should need it.

She's now scared;
It's time to take a spin around the cul-de-sac
And she knows he'll let go.
And she knows that the faster and more steady she becomes,
the less she'll notice.

She is guilty of relying lazily on his perfect balance,
his stalwart legs.

Out of love and hate,
with tears washing her face
she man ups.
Does it solo.
Tries not to look back.
Tries like hell to make him proud.

One night, she tells him over a bottle of wine how she's loosing ground.
And needs him to put the safety back on.

He whispered in her ear as they fall asleep,
"How did I ever find you?"

And the words, like caresses and deep breaths,
Wash her cells, her sad blood, anew.
And even if she had to swallow the fierce pain of dependence,
decides that tonight, just one night
she can borrow his vision again.

She slumbers to visions of ribbons flying free on the handlebars and eyes closed in belief and bliss.

Without the good, good love from another human, we cannot love ourselves.
It's not your fault.



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