You make me stumble upon a metaphor. You make me feel everything and nothing all at once. You own that cold ice sculpture you make out of me when you leave on a hot summer night. You make me feel the warmth from those carefully crafted heat generating words on a cold winter night. You’re the reason I lock the door every time you leave . But you are also the reason I decide to not change the lock. Hoping you will use the same old key to open the door. You leave me hanging like suicide on a ledge. Yet foolishly wait down asking me to have faith that you’ll hold me in your arms if I dare to jump. Sometimes I don’t know which way to go. I know none of those ways will make me reach you. But how can I plan an entire journey to a place I already am at. I wonder if it is the same reason I refuse to see you. I wonder if it would take just a combination of a husky voice and shuttered eyes to stop me from stumbling upon this metaphor. Would it take just another encounter, to be cruel enough to let you drown in these liquid eyes ?