We ruin things as we ruin ourselves. I’ve heard this before, I’ve written the words.
But this? This light before me that is offering some warmth, some comfort…some room to breathe and space to expand my wings?
Will I ruin this, she thought…again.
Will I hold this too close, contain it too tightly? Will I smother this with anticipation? Will I strangle it with intensity, and hold its shallow breath in the palm of my hand?
Will I hold this hand too tightly? Will I break these ribs? Will I hold his head under until he fights against me? Will I draw my nails down this back, breaking skin, drawing blood?
Will I ruin this, she thought.
Something tells me that I already have.