“This is where I felt myself falling and finally let go.”
on the route where i walked my dog every night when i lived in this neighborhood, at the corner of L and 20th, sherman heights, san diego.
the sensation of falling in love is horrible. like that disturbing feeling you get when you swing really high in the air, in those moments of gravitational mockery when your internal organs twinge in protest. i could never decide if i loved the swings as a kid or if i was just a masochist at an early age.
i had been grasping desperately at the last fraying thread tying my heart to my ribs as i crept toward the edge of the cliff, thinking that it would somehow hold the weight of all those unspoken words. i convinced myself that if i just didn’t say them out loud, i would be able to follow the thread back out through the maze. but after a while, i realized that it no longer mattered because i had slipped over the edge when i wasn’t paying attention.
the night i said “i love you” had been building for so long that when i finally did it was a resignation to truth, not a grand declaration. if gravity was going to win, i wasn’t going to swan dive.
it didn’t matter. i heard the quiet catch of breath on the other end of the line and knew we were both free-falling.