What is up with my head–can’t think straight–tension pooling in my bones and sinews. Yesterday I felt that thick plastic cable reattach between and underneath my shoulder blades, the center of my upper back hating the heavy connection. So many moments of my life, my week, my day, my moment–wild moments of flashing blinding light and sickly shadowed sludge. I am a person of extremes. I hate feeling dirty. Trapped.

Yet other times, especially recently when I’ve been with him, tickling, waiting, living for a smile or a sparkle, and her, laughing and teasing, talking deep and long, playing and listening. Spark catching warmth in my veins–peace, happiness, acceptance, care, understanding, loyalty. (Love even. Maybe. Definitely.) My world, my universe, centered in its rightful place by hands I barely knew just days ago. Revolving in a wonderfully unbalancing, solid-underfoot, spinning motion, my feet firmly planted, toes spread in the earth, but head and shoulders careening delightedly, dangerously, in a white atmosphere of ethereal cloud. My center, centrifugal force, making all else blur out with its motion. Stars, stars, stars, oh my stars. Three stars in Orion’s belt shouting for the joy of living. Being. Of warm, hearts-beating-in-chests bodies held close. Humming warm skin, soft, barely touching, connected in a family of alive. Thrill. Stability. Rolling out faster, bumbling, strong and lithe and untamed,¬†energy, growing out of control, reaching for Orion’s shout. I hold his hand. I hold her hand. Her breath in my ear, his laugh on my cheek. All is spring. New green grass and gold dandelion fire, verdant honeysuckle nectar, lavender syrup, river water, starlight whiskey.

I know the dark clouds burgeon, swell, brumble. Swirling outside my sphere, I can see them. An invisible boundary, firm, transparent and stronger for it, holds them back. Waiting for me to voluntarily breach the membrane, a sacrifice to the world–or a warrior to sacrifice it?–to offer up my heart.

They hold my hands. I grip back tighter. Tendons living copper wires, cool starlight, juicy green of dandelion stems.

And I know–we won’t ever let me go.