all we see is sky for forever

Consider: a tower you stack with two people, four hands. The seams disappear between tiles of wood and you pointedly refuse to notice them. You don't care yet for the stability of infrastructure this high up in the clouds. (Your palms are slimy with awareness though. Your hands know the game even if you don't.) You'll hesitate, but you pull out one tile when she glides elegantly over words that stab at your heart as if she never even considered they would. Carefully, slowly, from the center, it will slip out, and you'll congratulate yourself for a job well done when the tower doesn't wobble. You'll prop yourself up with just the one - you won't pull any more tiles, you'll promise yourself. But you'll pull another when you feel her absence longer and keener than her presence, and another when she acts the very way she says she hates, and another when she walks away without a backward glance and you are still spinning foolishly in the same spot. A tile for every power outage, a tile for every drop of blood, a tile for every call unanswered, a tile for every crack in life. You didn't care for the stability of infrastructure, but now you are no longer in the clouds, and in your attempt to build yourself the staircase back up, you hollowed your tower. How many tiles has she pulled? How many tiles is too many tiles? (In a moment the tower will come crumbling down, and oh, you'll think, in the second after, clarity accompanied by the silence of delayed disappointment - You don't love her that much after all.)