Lovers

My anxiety sees depression across the room and makes eyes, coaxing her into embrace. To anxiety, the scent on depression’s skin is intoxicating. It takes hold of her in ways that make her want to devour parts unseen, touch and touch and to-.

My anxiety and depression are destined. Like the taled red devil and white angel, shoulder bound. But they’ve long both shared the right, entangled and pulling me in the same direction. Off the edge and farther down than the eye can see.

And they just want the best for each other. That’s what love is, thriving together, for and with each other. Willing only good, prosperous events to unfold. And my body has been a gracious host:

How unexpected. You’ve come so far...

I guess you’ve right to be here.

Who am I to uproot you?

Who am I to come between lovers?

Who am I?