Monday, December 3, 2012

Tightrope




Fragile.
Everything seems so fragile.
We could fall so easily. But take my hand. Hold tight to these frail fingers and the blue veins through my porcelain skin and hold so, so tight.
We could fall, and fall so easily.
It’s a long drop, but another step and we’ll be past the edge.  We’ll be so far out we can’t go back.
But I want to try.
Do you want to try? (In spite of the fact we might fall, in spite of the fact the drop is so far, in spite of the fact both of our hearts are pounding with so much fear we can’t hardly think.)
(Step out with me.)
Do you want to try?
(We could do it, you know. It’s not even about proving them wrong anymore.)
Everything is so fragile.  You need so much courage for this. (I need so much courage for this.)
And slowly your icy fearful shaking hand reaches out, and your strong but oh so weak fingers entwine with mine.
One step.
One step and we’ll be past the edge.
Take it with me.
My hands can’t warm yours up, because I’m frozen as you. But if you think about it, the question isn’t if we want to go or not.
It’s if we’re all right with staying where we are.
There’s nothing but huge, undaunting courage before us and all that pain and sorrow and frozen wasteland behind us.
(Oh, do it. Oh, take that step.
(what I fear most is that everything depends on it)).
Just one more breath, and we could make it--just don’t look down--please-- let’s go past that edge--
As long as you hesitate so will I.
(What you fear most is that every little thing depends on it.)
And then, daring, we pick up our feet.
The next moments will the ones that prove our mad courage absolutely perfect or terrifically foolish.
What will it be, darling? Did we make the right decision?

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