The Funambulist

The tethers are in place.
We stare at one another from across the vast distance:
Something is moving in the wind
A gust as cold as the pits of hell
Sweeping across our bodies
And chilling our bones.
You can surely smell the fear seeping from my pores
See the worry etched into my frame,
But still I take the first step
And watch on as you mimic my actions.
The tightrope sways
Threatening to drop us both
So I search for some semblance of strength
And I find it in you r eyes,
Calling me forward to take the next step.
Without hesitation my foot finds its place
And I know without a doubt
That I can meet you in the middle
A triumphant smile adorning both our faces