There is a balance in everything.
There is a point of stillness
With a tipping point in each direction.
Balance is the resting place.
Move through the tipping point,
In any direction
And rest becomes strain,
A struggle not to fall.
Sometimes it’s good to fall.
Walking is a fall indefinitely postponed, after all,
And the sigh of a breeze moving through leaves
Is the shifting slide of air
Likewise, falling in love
Is the shifting slide of two souls
Finding a balance
In the recognition of self in the other.
Balance is rest.
Losing balance is progress.
Balance is stagnation, too.
Falling can hurt.
Find the balance.