I wonder if a day will come
when the words will stop
falling out of my head
tumbling softly onto the page
cushioning my fall.
I worry about that.

This pen
draws sweet lines
between us.
This pen
helps me make sense
of this mess.
This pen
may be the only bridge
back to you, my friend.

But how can it offer stability
when draped so precariously
over circling waters?
The bridge
my only chance
to find my way to you
again.

And what happens
when the walls of words
come tumbling down.
What happens then?

Are you lost forever?