For years, I stood at the edge of a precipice. I knew there was an unknown depth staring back at me, but I was safe when my legs were numb, and I couldnât get them to move. I couldnât step back either. I knew I had to let myself fall.
And I did.
Now, Iâm just free falling, and strangely, I feel at peace. Itâs a peace threaded with anticipationâ illogical, and yet real.
But Iâm also grieving.
As I fall, Iâm clutching the invisible weight of everything Iâm leaving behind. Letting it go feels like ripping off a part of my own body. So I hold on a little longer, grip a little looser, as I wait to hit bottom. Hoping when I do, Iâll find myself lying among the gentle fragments of this pain.
Before I reached the edge of the cliff, I was in a beautiful, sunlit meadow. Deep blue sky, warm sun, cool wind. Thatâs where love happenedâtender and brief. To fall in love was beautiful, but to feel its warmth returned? That felt like home. Even knowing it wouldnât last.
