Owned, Free, and Whole

My thoughts are a frantic race I cannot win, A tangled, jagged mess.

My body is a bowstring pulled to breaking, until your presence settles my very soul. Locked in the heavy, airless ache of waiting.

Each second of anticipation, a deliberate pull

That makes my blood throb and my vision blur,

The desperate, soaring tension before the storm finally breaks.

And then, the world narrows to the point of impact.

The sting, the weight, the heat of your hands

It is the only language that cuts through the noise, forcing my heart to stop its frantic pacing.

And surrender to you.

I am trembling, a wire pulled too tight, until you break the tension with a touch.

My resolve finally shatters, a landslide of relief. That leaves me exposed, gasping, and gut-level bare.

Stripped of the burden of being “strong,” I am cradled in the terrifying, shaking truth that I am owned, free, and whole.

When the storm recedes, the quiet is absolute.

You pull me close, the heat of your skin a steady shore.

And the need for you is a crushing weight.

No more demands, no more masks to wear, just the hollowed-out peace of the aftermath, Grateful and quiet, drifting in the safe,

Vast shadow of your shadow.