There is a moment between the decision to let go and the act of letting go when things soften.
Together we rocked right, together we rocked left. A tide pulled us further out and, after drawing us out so far that it felt endless, brought us back in. The movement always happened together, never one leading the other; in unison, in sync, in flow. Yet, it was boring, or became boring. Where were we going? What was the purpose? What was the meaning?
At some point I, or maybe it was you, or probably it was us both, found the boredom more interesting than the story we had been living and decided to let go. Let go of the other, let go of the precious flow, go our separate ways.
And isn’t that when we felt most together?
Suddenly there was a sense of vertiginous space where before the air was stuffy. The stagnant pond became an ocean and a tide so strong it put our efforts of trying to feel a tide to shame drew us clear across the universe and back.