Let's go.
Let go.
I love the very first moment when, seated on a rollercoaster seat, it unhinges from the parking place and jolts into life. I have not a white knuckled grip on the bar in front. Quite the opposite in fact. I let go.
My wild rides are wild for the absence of white knuckles, not their presence. Unhinged by the adrenalin that comes of not caring.
This is not a rollercoaster. This is a relationship. She is white knuckled. I am wildly free. I have let go. She grips on tight, then tighter. She realises that my hands brush nothing but the air; she needs to do the work for both of us now. That's hardly fair is it? She does it though. She does a good job too. Anyway, nothing is fair anymore. Anymore? Pah, never was.
Except now I feel her gripping too, I do not know if she knows it but I know it and it makes me shake. I shake with the effort of not-holding.
Like a funicular railway, it only works if there is a train on both ends, right? Well I am off rail.
