Latching On

An excruciatingly slow,
Deeply vast breath to rescue the feeling of security,
Fails.
A trip into a deep bass heartbeat,
Repetitiously echoing,
Booming out to empty softness,
As I close my eyes and take in the stillness as prescription.
Tiptoeing on a tightrope of anxiousness,
Never looking down or out,
Arms extended to centre balance,
Teetering in shoes hardly made stable for this protracted line that connects you and I.
An identified fear in unidentified terrain,
Even as a small voice reminds me that its the things only I say,
You listen to.
A paralyzing disquietude that draws feet's worth of walls.
Years of piling,
Pouring dense concrete,
Enclosing the things I should willingly be able to share.
Even in knowing that the road to repair need only be paved with few words,
I just cannot draw myself to speak.
Staring at this brightly lit orange wall,
Squeezing my eyes tightly to release two slowly spiralling tears,
That of which is poor evidence of the sadness trapped,
Its a sadness that desperately claws shut the door and refuses to escape.
How did we reach this impasse,
This momentous shift,
This juncture where the only solution smells of desperation and fear?
Desperately searching for the latch,
The one that fastens our common understanding,
I take that excruciating slow,
Deeply vast breath again.
A venture so deep into that bass heartbeat,
Echoing,
Booming,
In the stillness credited as prescription.
Tiptoeing, teetering, travelling towards you,
I mute and muffle paralysis,
I laboriously knock out every brick that aligns, rather crookedly,
The wall that separates you and I.
These spiralling tears draw out your empathy,
They help you visualize how difficult it has been to combat the clawing,
The gnawing grind of this silence.
And then that slight momentous shift,
Where confusion and relief lie parallel,
Where skepticism digs a deep well.
Where impasse is past,
And juncture is bridge.
Where the answer is, and always has been, vulnerability.