Wednesday, January 25, 2012

The Rush

She’s there,
On the tip of a steep cliff,
Playfully dangling her toes off the edge.
She could take five comfortable steps back,
And be safe again-
But she’s tired of safe.

For she craves the fall.
She craves the wind rushing around her,
Filling her lungs
and bringing goose bumps to her arms.
Although she loves the soft landing behind her,
It is the thrill she seeks,
Knowing that as soon as the cliff beneath her crumbles,
Her life begins.

Her life-
Her own.
The cliff of her childhood will soon be gone,
And she sits,
Looking over the edge,
Seeing the rush of the fall-
The rush of her life,
And she is tempted to jump,
To leap into the possibilities almost in reach of her dangling toes.
Who will I meet?
Where will I be?
What will I become?
The constant itch of these questions lies in her bones,
For she knows she must wait for answers.

And soon-
She remembers her soft landing,
It is not quite finished yet.
She goes back to basking in her final moments in the comfort,
In the familiar…

But her strive for the wind,
for the fall,
for the rush,
is always in the back of her mind.
She’s ready for her new life to begin.

**cross-posted at Shutter Sisters