The Freefall

It's a fear of falling. Of plummeting off over the edge when I can't see the ground. I can hear you utter that it's there, but the sound of my heartbeat echoing around me and my nerves stampeding through me like the heavy hooves of horses threaten to drown you out. I cling to hold onto your voice. Your words. I tether myself to them like an anchor holding a ship against the rolling of the waves. And I'm scared.Scared because you've asked me to jump. Scared because you've asked me to trust you. And trust is something I didn't think I remembered how to do. It's like faint etches on old paper. I can barely make out the words if I try. Water has carved away at the rocks that used to stand firm against the terrain. Pieces yielded to the demand of its rage and crashed down into the flood. Great caverns and crevices have been formed. And like those rocks, I'm scared that the holes that have been formed in me will cause the wind to blow right threw my parachute on the jump down.

But then I feel your lips slide against mine. Feel the breath you ask of me leave my lungs. Feel it hotly creep back into me. Feel you around me and inside me and the fight or flight that assaults my nerves are soothed away by your steady touch. So I focus. Focus on the in of you into me. Your thrust forwards pushes the old fear to the forefront as my body tries to make room for you. But there's only so much so you both can't fit. And I worry. Just for a split second. But then you drag it away with the pull of your hips from me as it follows the retreat of you. It's a slow process. Emptying me of it. And you give me the time to really feel it. To let me linger in it as the heaviness of that fear disappears and all that's left is the heaviness of you above me. The weight of where we meet. The glide of your pelvis that demands mine.

And then you wordlessly ask me again if I'm ready to fall. And I'm the ship, tethered to you with my hands at your back. Mouth pressed against the crook of your neck. Anchored to the heat and taste of your skin there. It's not the surging waves of a turbulent storm that I'm fighting against. It's the calm lull of a rising swell before it breaks upon the shore. it's no longer a huge ship made of dark, corroded metal but a canvas of tiny white ones that decorate a clear crisp sea. And again I focus. On the warmth of the sun and the feel of the breeze and the sound of the birds as they flutter around the seascape you're painting.

And so I fully sink myself into the way you paint me. Your hand gripped around my thigh like you're holding the brush as you hold me against you. The other fans through the bristles of my hair and cradles my head. The vibration of the hum that escapes you as work reverberates through me, drawing more splashes of colors into my vision. And maybe we should be hung in some old museum somewhere because the art of you and me should hold a place in time. So people can admire and study it and bask in the feeling it creates in them. The wonder of it never ceasing as the centuries go by.

And it's fitting because I'd keep the feeling of you inside me amongst my halls just as long.

And so I stand at the edge. Ready to fall. There's no need to peer down. No demanding of myself to contemplate what comes next. No feeling of being forced over it. There's only excitement and the thrum of electricity that dances along me as I jump willingly. And when I do it's not wind whipping against my face as I hurdle towards the Earth. Instead it's the floating of a feather as it descends. It spirals delicately through the air and it's effortlessly breathless. I'm breathless as I spiral through my release. Turned into sea foam as my wave breaks the shore. Can see the white of your parachute as you descend beside me. There's no hint of the horrors I thought would await me as I make my trip down. Instead it's the feeling of your arms around me. It's light and it's calm and soft. It's gentle colors and cascading heat. It's not restrictive or oppressive. It doesn't throw my limbs and body around violently. It doesn't wrack me of my being. Instead it lets me be. It's realizing there's a safe place to land at the bottom. And so I let myself enjoy it. The free fall.