Don’t go over there. There’s the edge, right underneath that bush. If you waver, you’re done for.
But still I crept, crying as they kept pushing and yelling. Someone tried to pull me away from her.
I am not crying as we hold hands and toss made up words in the air, every day.
I woke up and I thought I remembered being here, by the desolate plane, crowned by a single bush. Then he came and warned me to stay close or else I would fall. When I fall it doesn’t feel endless at all.
Still, I was thinking of the time we held each other’s hands.