"Fall," is whispered.
"You'll be caught before you hit the bottom," is confidently reassured.
"...Or, you'll be taught to fly," is laid before me, a promise.
A promise made ethereal by years of smoky false truths and a graveyard scattered with pieces of my broken heart.
I cannot jump. I cannot fall. I will not be caught. And I most truthfully will never unfold my bruised wings and learn to fly.
This is the mantra I repeat as my toes dare to skirt the edge of the forbidden abyss.
What will dare them further? Who? Will it be you to catch me as I leap this final time?
I stare into the darkness at the bottom of the bottomless drop. I've spent too much time there.
But I will leap again, one last time. I leap to find my wings in the crevices of the rocks that bruise and break me.
Or my heart will die trying.
No comments:
Post a Comment