it feels as if we're skating, but the blades of our boots cruise against thin ice. it threatens to shatter with every tentative pirouette, sighs shakily with every turn, fractures as we propel ourselves towards each other. unsaid words and stolen glances and words we wish we could take back are dug into our rib-cages like caverns of ice. the tips of our fingers are numb with frozen hope.
we both know the ice will shatter soon. but there is no way of knowing how much longer the paper thin platform will support our weight, or who will be the one to crush it into thousands of liquiform shards. i'm almost tempted to break it on purpose, because i don't know how much longer i can harbour the fear of not knowing when it will cave. anticipation is crawling up my throat like fog and turning the blood in my veins into icy dread.
i am prepared for the initial bitter shock when the ice finally surrenders and we are submerged. but the most terrifying part of it all is that i have no idea whether the waves will pull us under their icy embrace and we will drown in the cold scratching at our skin until the oxygen in our lungs is replaced with frost, or if we will swim to shore and hold each other in our arms under the ice in our veins, our throats, our hearts has thawed.
YOU ARE READING
Small Talk
Poetry❝ we're just fumbling through the grey, trying to find a heart that's not walking away. ❞ [ a collection of drabbles, musings and poetry: sometimes i like to pretend that i can write poetry when there's things i want to get off my chest ]
