Walking on Thin Ice

You once told me you're walking on thin ice,

but actually we both are.

Not on the same thin ice, though.

Yours, you know, I can do nothing about.

Helpless you are, but mine is you.

You are my thin ice.

Each day, I must be careful not to make a crack.

As much as possible, I should put so light a weight

that must, sometimes, be even lighter than my body weight.

It's exhausting to fight with gravity,

and even more, to walk on your thin ice

when I can actually see the nearby solid ground.

So for several times, I've stumbled.

I've faltered.

I have not just made cracks;

I've made huge holes.

For many times, I've fallen,
submerged in your ice cold river.

I almost died,

caught by your coldness that chilled not just my skin

but everything that's deep beneath it.

It froze my whole being, nearly to death.

Yet for the umpteenth time, I've fought it all

and have swam back to that light.

That light which never failed to assure me

that someday I will again feel

the warmth I've been longing for.