I stand on the precipice of fear.
When I look over the edge all I see is my beautiful death.
No Shelf,
No Cloud,
No Net
Will break my fall.
My eternity is written in bouts of mortal stories
drifting in and out of existence.
As I live out each one, I see more and more of my own flawed and beautiful design.
My vision blurs as the tale I write presently grows.
It's size and imperceptible scope is more than this fragile vessel can fathom.
I must simplify my story...
purify and wash my hands of the demolition that is inevitable.
I must let go...
I must allow this crumbling ledge to crack and break under the weight of my own identity.
Embrace the dying of dreams,
so that I may be reborn awake to see the life I must live.
Live life as the child knows to.
Breathe
Nourish
Love
and return to observe what is happening before my very eyes...