Something I hope to one day soon revise.

it wasn’t the first time I saw you,
the first time I looked,
really looked.
it was like
skidding on black ice,
but not skidding,
only the fear of skidding.
or like tiptoeing
over the cracks
in a sidewalk,
or walking barefoot
over tangled branches.
the first time I looked,
really looked,
it was like
getting lost without a map,
but not staying lost,
just the fear of staying lost,
only,
I really was lost.