Can a tree ever feel happy when its leaves are still?
Because I still feel the rush as he moves me, and I wonder if trees feel the same relief as the wind blows over its branches. It is true that I still look at him and see treasure in his dark brown eyes. Time has not yet taught me indifference to his gifts.
But is happiness a place of stillness? Yes, the greatest danger comes when I am most at risk of happiness. Danger of self-sabotage, perhaps.
If he moves me like nature, like wind through trees, then you are a tornado. How eager I am to be torn apart by you, with no promise of survival.
Maybe danger is what I seek after all.