I....

I write. That's what I do. That's who I am. I like to believe I was born with a pen in my hand. I write. I write when I'm angry.  I write when I'm content.  I write becaues it's the only thing I can trust never to change.  Once it's there, it's there forever and there's nothing anyone can do to fix that.
I write because  book can keep a secret.  I write because words can soothe the broken heart with kind words of condolence.  I write because writing holds the key to true happiness.  Who I am coannot be explained in a spoken word; rather, it is explained in the lines between each stroke.  Spaces of time, angles of hope.  The equation to solve Life.

-There's a fine line between you and I.  A balancing act of sorts.  I step forward on this high wire and you take a step back.  I turn around. I try to turn my back on you.  "Wait. Wait." you sigh and follow me.
"Stop," I say, "stop."
You and I are doing all we can not to fall.  I grab hold of you and you whisper, "Never let go."
I breathe your scent, the smell I'm so addicted to.
I look into your twinkling eyes and I whisper something too.  "It's a long way down, Love."
A gentle nudge, that's all it takes...for now.
"I'm so sick," I growl under my breath and I keep walking the thin, ever shaking, distrustful wire...