It’s hard to trust distance when you’re standing near the edge.
There is nothing familiar to lend perspective,
and nothing on which to fix your gaze,
just the void.

So we cry out, hoping for more than an echo,
a piece of ourselves crashing against the distant shores,
fragments returning to us in waves,
like a siren’s song.

To lose ourselves in the void is the fear.
And at times, it seems easier to give in, to leap
and take comfort that it will hurt for only a moment,
and then no more. Certainty, is a need, like air, like water, like love.

At these times, we must trust what we know is real.
The indifference of the ground beneath our feet,
gravity, forever, or almost ever, holding us to that ground,
that we exist, for a reason.

Still, there are times when, in spite of ouselves
the earth sinks beneath our feet, and our bodies
abdicate against greater forces than their own,
and the wind defies both gravity and free will.

To survive ourselves, we must be like trees,
grounded but free to sway with the breeze, and freer still,
for we may choose uncertain life over certain death,
and love over all else.

In love, there is something more solid than the ground,
more constant than gravity, more infinite than time,
before there was a word for love, there was love,
ineffable.

Now, without a word, come to me,
and let my ground be your ground, and my eyes be your gravity,
and let our love fill the void, and let the wind carry away
all that has no substance.