The Edge

It could be that I'm just hungry for the edge.

Of reason.

Of life and death.

Of love.

It could be that my idea of love is so tangled up with loss that I can never have it.

As if you could ever have the sky.

There was that time where the two rivers were crashing together, on the rocks with your coat spread over them. Sitting there astride you I saw you lose yourself to me, saw that it somehow erased me and ignored me at once. Bent over I gripped your hair in my fingers, my mouth locked over yours, attempting to pull you up to the lofty perch you placed me on. Using your mouth as a kite grips the hand of it's flyer with the very string keeping it earthbound.

As if you could ever have the sky.

It could be that my idea of love is so tangled up with loss that I can never have it.

Of love.

Of life and death.

Of reason.

It could be that I'm just hungry for the edge.