I softly fall into his arms. My dependent self wanting to depend on him. My independent self wanting to pull away. His body so warm. My heaven or hell? Should I let go, should I fall and expect him to catch me? Fall and hit hard? Float on a cloud? I shouldn't rationalize. I shouldn't analyze every little move, but I do. His soft lips of pink. Hair the color of pure black softness. Soft hands of love, warmth, and compassion. I can not fall, without knowing I will not hit the ground. Do you have to fall before you can float upon a cloud? Maybe I can't let go of what's holding me up. The dependent side wants to say no. The independent side says take a chance. Falling . . . I will catch myself. That much I need. Then I am no longer dependent. Individual thoughts can be only me. by Chase