Thursday, February 9, 2017

Life on the edge

Cartoon-image of young tanned woman in a bikini crouching at the edge of a precipice.
Life on the edge, what we call yearning—at that age when we first learn to love—hurts.

I remember:

That when I leap, I die. I die when I retreat from the brink as well.

But is death in different ways the same thing?

Or merely the same word?

I could say change but as an abyss, change does not have the same depth.

If I move back—that is only in language because the back I return to isn't. Coming here, to this place— has changed everything.

Or rather, everything dies in this moment.

I was and remain afraid to jump because I would look foolish.

1 comment:

  1. I didn't get my tattoos until my 20's... if you're wondering. The summers of my adolescence seem to be filled with high places, the American River below, and all the wrong reasons.

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