Standing on the edge of this cliff. Timid.
Tremulous waters below, lapping at the stone.
My quaking feet knock pebbles in the foaming
fingers that reach up, trying to grasp my ankles.
He is down there. He’s asking me to jump,
to collapse into his unyielding, rock steady grip.
I stagger back from the precipice, the boundary, the brink.
Unsure of his dependability, his stability.
If I jump, I may stumble. I may crash. I may die.
Or I may just miss his arms completely.
But if I don’t, I’ll never find him, never join him.
And so with gravel crunching beneath me,
I soar.
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