I haven’t seen water in years,
And you brought me the ocean.
So much of it I was scared.
When you’ve forgotten the taste of salt,
Your tongue will curl,
And you aren’t sure if you hate the taste,
Or just familiarized yourself with blandness.
When you spent all your life in caves,
Would the light not blind you?
When your reality was white noise,
How would you know,
What to do
With soft hands,
And quiet whispers?
My mother told me
We were bred to fear the unknown
And I forgot how to swim.
I don’t want to drown in your depths.
So I hope you can understand,
Why I can’t hold your hand.
Or my back becomes the first barrier.
Because to love you is to maybe lose you,
For being ripped from the ocean to the desert
But I promise,
I will jump,
And even though my skin flinches at the feel
My legs screaming to run
I will stay
In the intensity of our burning time.