The Edge

We sat on the edge of the forest, it was dusk and the stars were beginning to come out. I looked over at her and my eyes traced the lines of her face, moving of their own accord. I was very aware of the shape of her mouth as she told me about the last time she had been able to see any stars, how the lights of the city obscured the needle point diamonds from the eyes of any searching for songs in the heavens. My breath felt uncomfortable, I had to think about every pull and push my lungs made, and there was a deep whirling motion happening in my stomach, like I were falling upwards and couldn’t find anything to grab onto. I felt myself pulled closer to her against the wind that seemed too cold, the deepening shadows that seemed too dark. I wanted to catch her words in my mouth so I could taste them, I wanted to feel the form of her lips pressed to mine. As I thought this the whirring in my stomach, like the pitched tenuous silence before a storm, the dangerous sense of falling, became faster. My thoughts couldn’t find a place to settle and so they sparked and fizzled fitfully. As she turned her eyes to mine, aglow with reflected starlight like they were stealing portions of a secret to keep for later, I realized that I was scared. I was filled with a fear that was absorbing into my bones and I was quickly realizing that I would do anything in this world to make this terrible anxiety never stop.

This is more prose than poetry, but I thought there was enough one one in the other to post it. Look forward to hearing what you all think.