The first time I fell, I had no idea I was falling. I had no knowledge of gravity, or of the bottom, so it felt more like floating. We floated together for that first summer, and when he let go of my hand I was still pretty safe, the ground wasn't in focus yet and I could manage on my own just fine. But then we had the to and fro - he wanted to hold my hand, and I had no other hand to hold, and then we both let go, and then I did find another hand and he decided that he was mad, it was his hand or no hand, so after a little bit of hand deciding, I went back to his hand. By this point we did need each other, and we made each other fit into our own lives, and we fit together in Norfolk anyway, and then we went back to uni. I held someone else's hand. He didn't want to let go though, so we padlocked our hands together, and for the rest of the year he watched my hands so closely I felt the pressure of holding his hand. Maybe, not to do with another hand, maybe it wasn't meant to be like this? Then, someone offered me their hand. They just laid it out, so I knew it was there. They didn't expect anything from me, but they wanted me to know that there was another hand out there to guide me, and it wouldn't be padlocked, it would just be floating through gravity together. So I broke the lock on the padlock and let go. The time I spent floating, my gravity shifted, and it took me to the other hand, so I took hold of it. And I didn't let go, and our gravity took us together and we floated, fingers locked, until my gravity and his gravity were different things.
I let go when I felt that pull. I didn't want to drag the hand with me; it would have been so selfish. And then my gravity caught up with me, and I hit the floor.
It'd be nice to be able to float again. Even if just for a day.