The Plea and The Response

Don’t leave me hanging.
Hanging from the cliff, dangling over the chasm of wanting.
Looking down but trying not to look down.
 
Don’t look at me now because I’m ashamed.
I hang my head because you caught me. Caught me reaching out.
Caught me needing, kneeling over my own glass statue. Shielding it with my wary embrace.
 
Don’t look at me now—my face is embarrassed.
You caught me between poses.
In between stages. In between rehearsals.
Suspended between carefully orchestrated deliberations.
Don’t judge what I’m doing. I do it with blindness.
Without a reliable script.
 
The Response-
I love you.
I love you through your uncertainty,
your desperate grasping of another,
frantic groping for a plug to stop this sink.
 
I love you.
I love you through the shiny mirages,
the race to the horizon,
The realization of an empty sandy landscape.
I love you.
I love you through the utter humiliation of obvious need,
your naked body in the dream where you forgot to dress,
The revelation.
The revealing that seems so involuntary.
I love you.
I love you for your striving, for running to goal posts.
I love you for beating yourself at your own time.
I love you for wanting. For needing.
For despairing. For grasping.
For struggling. For reaching.
For yearning.
I don’t hold this against you. I hold you against me.
I wrap my arms around you and stoke the flames of your raging bonfire.
I love you.

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