Falling.

  It's true you have my heart.  Nestled in your hand.  Beating ever so fast.  Its murmur humming against your fingers.  Please be gentle with it and never treat it poorly.  Without my heart, I am a shell.  I am an empty body, hovering unprotected against the world.  My blood pours through and under and over and back into my body around your hand.  I slip through the veins to you and hold my heart with you, against my chest.  As you place my heat back inside of my body, I tell you that I love you.  You tell me that you love me back.  And all the world can't take that away from us, even if things aren't perfect.  I hold your hand, as we cross the parking lot.  With you I can breath, breath as if it is the first sip of air that I have ever taken.  I can cross over the frozen pond and defeat the evil queen.  The sense of myth overwhelms me and I am taken back again to your hand in mine, breaking away from the world and becoming just us-this bubble that allowed us to surrender and how we lost the bubble-how we tortured it-how we mistreated its curves and caresses-how we tore it apart.  There is something cruel about the end of a song.  A melody, the lyrics, the singers, the instruments-they take you to a place where you can take off and wander distant lands of green fields where horses run free and you can run with them and then they stop and leave you back in the real world-heartbroken and yearning for the melodies.  We had reached that end.  But, something pulled us back into the bubble.  Maybe it was love.  Maybe it was the idea of being with someone else.  Electric cords inserted in my heart pump it for me.  I no longer need to worry about it stopping.  The curves of my hands move towards yours, slide across the leather seats of the car and move towards your fingertips-spark.