A Touch Off Base

In a game of hide-and-seek,
you
are my home base.
Even though I know everyone else in
this silly game is
running for you and
you are indiscriminate with your shade,
when I touch you
I am safe.

I guess the thought of another finding me in this
elementary school game of "Predator" still terrifies me.
I run to you, familiar and awaiting,
knowing your sole purpose is to signal to others that
I cannot be caught.
I acknowledge this is a poor strategy,
but I cannot help but feel that
even after all this time,
you
are what I am meant to find.

I know I have to leave you when my turn
is up, know this comfort has an expiration date
but I'm going to keep drinking this milk until it
sickens me, until it curdles and cannot be salvaged
by a simple shake.

There is a patent fear in letting go of
our bases
meant to protect us from those
out there,
intimidating and with
uncertain intent.
But we must learn to let go of the trees,
fences, and side-of-our-mom's-cars we clutch,
for they can and
will never requite our
desperate hold,
never seek us out
among the trees. They stand
stoically and wait to be found, and
they will always
succeed.