like falling

You can see the sailboats in Newport Harbor out of a window in my friend’s room. She has lavender curtains and a door which opens out to a balcony with no railings. It’s tempting to walk onto the platform and watch the sunset. I was there yesterday night. I was falling in love. And now I am falling out. It is so much easier, but so much more terrifying.

And I wanted you.
I remembered all the conversations we used to have.
How no one wanted you, only me, how no one cared.
How it hurt to have you never answer my emails, never think twice about my replies.
I spent hours thinking of what I would say to you tomorrow, and never saw you the next day.
I hated looking at you. That was not where your soul was. It was hard to find, who you really were. Still don’t know. Who you are.
Wanted to jump. Wanted to fall. Find you. Find who you really were, staring out into the black water of Newport Harbor.
No ripples. Just black, smooth water.
Wanted to jump in. Crack the icy black glass, shatter the perfect and find the flaw. Dive into the upside down glass ceiling, break the surface. No point in coming back up. And find out who you were. Are. Who you are.
To part the lavender curtains, to fall, out of the platform, tumble down beautifully, in circles, break the perfection. Flying blissfully downward. And hitting shame and deception. Lies.

I want you like falling.