The exhilaration of rising as high as possible. The anticipation, after the descend, of what is to come once more. And then the frustration, the gentle let down, because no matter how hard you push, the rush is not as breathtakingly spontaneous as it was before.
The gradual slowing down. There's no more desire to push. There's no more effort to exert because you're worn out. And you know that the result will be disappointing. So you cease your movement, and go slack. And you float, letting the see saw control you, taking you to lighter depths, and milder heights.
And it stops. But you are reluctant to leave. Because it felt so good. So refreshing. So different. You want to go one more time. Maybe, just maybe, you'll lose your breath once more. Laugh once more. Skip a heartbeat or two again. Maybe.
And then you remember that there is someone else on the other end. That you were not riding that see saw alone. That for you to rise further, he should push harder. That moment where your laughter echoed, was that moment he did that trick to make you jump in your seat. That instant where you almost fell off but held on tightly, was that instant he challenged your resistance. And you suddenly realize that you stopped enjoying the ride, when he stopped taking part in it.
But you still wait. You still can't get off that see saw. You still wait for him to take the lead. You wait for your cue to start pushing. Because when you both rode together, it was the moon and stars shining in the darkest sky.
So you wait.
