Keep sliding. Don’t land yet. Don’t believe in that “yet”. Don’t land ever. Raise your eyebrows at the meme that there’s a better place, an emotional destination. Raise your voice at the idea there’s a stop. Keep sliding. Stay sliding. Enjoy this feeling of loose and lovely ankles. Relish in the catapult. You opened your mouth and things started to fall inside; now a whole universe is snarled in your teeth, and you’re grinning. Keep sliding. Whether you end up—eventually—in his arms is of no import because ending up means ending means dead. You are not dead yet. Don’t believe in that “yet”. Refuse to angle yourself to a destination. Adore everything. Get all dizzy by the smell of that neck.