I’m stood on the edge…

I often find myself stood here. I see them run past me and launch themselves into the sky. They fly, they enjoy, they land graciously (and sometimes not so graciously) back next to me. I used to believe that if I practised enough that I could fly too. That my wings would grow and I would soar and I would have fun like them.

I’m stood on the edge.

I often find myself stood here. I see them run past me and I run with them. I laugh as they fly and I fall. I fall deep into the space beneath. When I land it hurts, but I can always climb back up and try again.

I’m stood on the edge.

I see them run past me and I willingly launch myself off the edge and fall into the space beneath. I have become so practiced at falling that I no longer care how deep the space becomes. I know I will never be able to fly. As I get older the landing is always harder and hurts more. Each time the climb becomes more difficult. I am tired of always climbing.

I’m stood on the edge.

I want to launch myself into the space beneath but I am scared. I want the fall to last longer than ever. I want to enjoy the freedom and the escape. But I don’t want to land. I don’t want to find that I’ve fallen so far that I cannot ever climb back out again. As long as I have this fear I know I have a safety net to stop me falling.

We’re stood on the edge.

We want to launch ourselves into the space beneath. Tempted by the concept of sublime chaos and the choreographed destruction of the fall. There would be no way back. What do we have to lose apart from everything?

I cling to my safety net and peer into the abyss…

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