The world weighs heavy, caked with dirt and sorrow. Uneven stitches stretched into a crooked smile, a seam-split in skin too paper-thin for beauty. Such fragility, these glass-wrought bones, these delicate souls tucked in heart-shaped cradles.
Yet it weighs; it weighs so heavy.
I pitched my body forward when it fell, cupped my hands to catch the sphere flung so far from its course. But it pulled me into the plummet, into the shadowed cracks of the universe. Its yoke striping my neck with creases dripping bloody, its burden curling my spine into distortion.
We fell together. The spin made me dizzy and sick. My wings crumbled, as we tumbled, into the black.
Forgive me, dear. I cannot save you. You are too heavy. You are too heavy for me.
The moments strung along like years, and for a thousand or more, I shut my eyes against the terror. But I had to learn the reason, some explanation of why, I was still breathing.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the stars singing. When I opened my ears, I heard our hearts beating. That face, that voice, those hands that held. Making existence suddenly easy, and light. And I looked past the world, over the curve of sky and sea. My gaze timid and wavering, until His steadied mine.
But not too heavy for Me, My love. Not too heavy for Me.
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