Please Remain Seated

It took six months, down to the week—

the trajectory of us.

The beginning, that clickety-clacking

of the rollercoaster—

so short compared to the scheme

of the winding path ahead.

Always coming back to the start,

circular,

deciding to give it another go,

even when it made me sick enough

to forgo my lunch,

sob on the way home from work.

Waking up the next day,

giving out forgiveness

like Halloween candy to your

awaiting trick or treat.

​

We always bought another ticket.

Waited for that chance to get high,

amidst transparent conversation,

hard to find,

when something is not at stake,

when feet are on the ground.

Loop after loop,

round and round,

disoriented.

Until the word “love” became blurry,

out of context, uprooted—

it needs roots.

I don’t think you wanted me to go,

just as much as,

I really didn’t want to have to.

But how many times can I feel

my stomach in my throat?

How many times will I cry

in tune to the radio?

How long until I question—

What is love?

​

The day I decided to cut the seatbelt

while the bar was raised,

was the day I chose to love myself,

just a fraction of the amount,

that you love everyone else.

​

​

.....

Love is not an excuse to be reckless.