Last night, you held out your hand and said, “Don’t be afraid of falling.”
You have an open face, a face I can trust. I’m close enough to see the freckle under the arch of your brow. Below us – another world, moving silently on invisible wheels. Walking heads, veins of tar, and hard, black pavement. I smile my smile, the wry one that keeps me tethered to myself, the one that says: You take me for a fool. Your hand flutters in front of me – I reach for it. And let it drop, a flightless bird, into the space between us.
Friday Fictioneers http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/07/03/5-july-2013/