You got a light?

Treason on ice. There's a wall between an east and west that no one can see. Picasso's blue period has turned into Kandinsky's red, and I'm not sure which history is mine. I am born breathing Jeffersonian air, but tune my strings to La minor and find myself walking chromatically. Skip and skid.

We spin for two weeks on a pedestal, tipping between Temple falls and renewal. We spin for two weeks holding our breath, forgetting to exhale, losing ourselves, addicted to the momentum. We spin for two weeks and then, gravity pulls us down. Just as we were hypnotized by love we are submerged in doubt. We still want, but we aren't certain.

I've learned who my friends are. I've learned who's real and who's convenient. I've learned who weathers time and who falters before it. I've learned that I want to believe in everyone. I've decided I'll keep trying.

I close my eyes and wonder at the way some pairs of hands lock together while others shrivel to the touch.

I don't want to run away anymore. Help me stand still.