Stillness takes over. Your words flow cooly, unsteady but consistant. I take them in slowly, sip after sip. Filling with things I didn't know I was looking for. Our fingertips, like magnets, keep finding each other. Leaving me breathless on impact. I feel dizzy and controlled.
We continue for hours. Spinning, careful and unfiltered. When I trip up you take over. We make sense, of things, the past and each other. Its different than I imagined. More than I expected.
You've been gone for hours and I still can't catch my breath.
par·a·chute[par-uh-shoot] noun, verb, -chut·ed, -chut·ing.
a folding, umbrellalike, fabric device for allowing a person, to float down safely through the air from a great height.