I took a step today. A step closer. A step nearer to the ledge. I could jump now. It's not far. I can feel that vertiginous pull. The invisible cord that connects and tugs, slowly and longingly. The ache for the rush of air all around. Breath held in the face of the ecstatic rush. The explosion of joy and the expulsion of essence, the ripping to shreds and the sweetness of losing oneself in another. Falling as one, it feels like flying for a while. But all the time the ground draws ever nearer.
There are rocks down there, too far away to see right now, but they are there nonetheless. And they can't be avoided. Ever. Should the certainty of the cuts and bruises they will inflict upon me keep me up here, safe from harm or should I willingly submit myself to their hard embrace. I've been bloodied on them before; twice before. And yes I got up and walked away each time and yes the bruises always heal, but am I diminished or grown, weaker or stronger from the dive?
Is the hurt of the crash worth the pleasure of the fall? Sometimes this freewill thing is not all it's cracked up to be.
