He’s the rock in the middle of a river
solid enough to withstand the water racing past
refusing to give an inch, so every current that pushes by carves out its mark
proof that he’s been touched by the flow, changed but not moved
he’s the rock in the middle of a river
water cycles around and passes by again with a new load,
but the rock remains the same, unmovable and unwilling
preferring to settle down into the riverbed
choosing erosion over adventure
he’s the rock, I’m the river
tossing, throwing, tumbling
sinking, saturating, seeking
waiting for the day he’ll let go and get swept up into new rapids with me
understanding the waterfall is near and risking it anyway
