you chase the light away
I never answered the last question you asked me. Let me tell you this: While we with each other cheated the evening chill, I watched the flicker of the lantern somewhere behind your head, and all around that lantern, the eager moths against the glass never stopped smashing themselves to death. Because unlike you and me, moths do not learn. We learn. We know. As gleeful arsonists we wander into the trees, well informed that when the forest is ablaze so too are we. But still we do it, because no one really likes to find out she'd been sitting in the freezing dark only to die in the freezing dark. As I once said to you, and as you repeated a thousand times back to me: If you fear failing, then you will fear trying. So never be afraid of failing.
As I crossed the bridge above the little stream, your arm came around my shoulders and we turned, facing back, facing yet again the wrong direction. You thought I was afraid of losing control. Control is not about stopping yourself from doing something; control is about doing something and emerging from it without having lost yourself. And you ask exactly when did I lose control. And I tell you that I never did.
As I crossed the bridge above the little stream, your arm came around my shoulders and we turned, facing back, facing yet again the wrong direction. You thought I was afraid of losing control. Control is not about stopping yourself from doing something; control is about doing something and emerging from it without having lost yourself. And you ask exactly when did I lose control. And I tell you that I never did.