My love holds on. I only relate to one part of the metaphor of "falling into love", its the part where I don't climb out. Its the downward direction of the "falling" I can't get along with. It means I will eventually hit a bottom limit where there is no more falling to do and ultimately comes the tears and bloody body parts fractured away from my heart.
When I go in, I go in expanding in all directions... not limited to down. Opening myself up to the scars, twisted ankles, and bruises of landing hard on the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. Its more like I fall in all directions at once, exploding into pieces from the start, finding myself again, and tying the parts back together throughout as I manufacture new memories of myself. The beauty in falling is how surrender makes the whole experience significantly different.
Maybe the metaphor should be more like spelunking: climbing in, eyes wide open, ready for adventure, no matter what may come. I light a candle over here, shine a light over there, embrace the shadows and the way the light bends around them. I am always curious to discover the underground lake, the pits that unfold illuminating critters that surpass anything I thought I would ever find. Each time I climb in I am mesmerized. If I am honest about it I get a little lost on the way in and most of the fun comes in losing my way to some new place I never imagined.
And once I find that place, it seems inevitable that I will need to find a path out. But those edges and shadows, they become part of me.. I always love that place and will always adventure in. No matter how bad I broke last time. I will always return with my expanded self ready to splash around again and rediscover the whole place again for the first time.