TRICKLE TRICKLE DANCE

Photo by Snappy Shutters on Unsplash

You are like water, he says.
When someone tries to hold on
to you, however tightly they try,
you trickle through their fingers.

We are two leaves, I say.
Dancing with each other
on the surface of a stream.

Eyes glistening,
he sways his head.

You are right. And wrong.
I am the leaf.
And I am the stream.

He nods, biting his lips,
hands clenched, head down,
closing the door.

You didn’t get it.
I am not leaving.
I am everywhere.

But water is
what your love is.