On the Edge
I'm standing on the water's edge. Not wanting to go forward. Not wanting to go back.
Why would I turn to climb up a bank, down which I so easily strode?
Yet, the impending dread of the water's chill keeps me frozen here.
Or is it the fear of a raging boil that has soldered my feet?
What if I step in and find the water no different than the air I leave? I will have journeyed this path for nothing.
I wish I could fly.
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