parley

our traitorous hearts beat like war drums, an unbidden percussion against the ribcage urging us to march towards one another into the unknown, a demilitarized zone— i have never been the one to raise the white flag first. instead i wait for the death throes of my emotion, choke it out with smoke and— here you are, hand extended and asking parley. though neither side will bend nor beg, two opposing forces unused to compromise, i muster strength to meet your grasp and recognize the steel in your eyes. if nothing else is decided here, know this: the pendulum swings both ways and i may never know a name for this emotion, reckless and restless beneath my skin. i recognize myself in you, across these lines and across all distance. today— love, or something like it, wins.