One was falling, one was rising.
Neither of them wanted to head in the direction they were
going, he for obvious reasons, she less so, a complex matter of self-doubt and
anxiety.
So at the moment they met, their hands moved on instinct and
grabbed each other, and they desperately fought against the forces pulling them
down or up respectively.
It wasn’t love, as such, just desperation at what seemed to
be inevitable. They hovered there, sometimes moving up, sometimes down, their grip
getting tighter every time.
I’d like to say that the forces gave in and let them go.
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