Scraped Knees & Healing Hearts

We lay under the same covers-

The ones from last night, and the almost 365 nights before this one.

But whose counting?

Oh yeah... me.

Because I'm waiting for the glass to shatter.

I'm waiting for the cuts and bruised knees-

from falling and not being caught.

I hold the happiest thing I've ever known within my two palms.

But I only hold loosely.

Because I remember the scrapes on my finger tips from the last time love was ripped from my hands.

It took a lifetime for them to heal.

And I know waiting for the floor boards to fall out from underneath us-

May slowly be turning brick floors into cardboard that is surely about to crumble under the weight of my tears.

But my heart has learned to remind my hands and feet that nothing is ever as permanent as concrete.

Except maybe the roots of my heart tangled into yours.

I want to believe-

That tie is stronger than a sailor's knot holding sails onto a boat.

So now I'll close my eyes and try not to suffocate my mind with the thought that our love is bound to be a very big and very ugly shipwreck.