Standing near the edge, you’re always cautious. You can’t quite see how far down it really is – a good indication that extreme caution should be used. You hold on to the handrails, you tread carefully. You always watch where you step.
But you can’t help it – you have to look, you have to try and see how far down it really is. You know what would happen if you fell. At very minimum, it would hurt. At it’s worst, it could be the end of you.
So you tread with caution. But something happens. Maybe it’s a minor distraction. Maybe it’s just a dab of paint. Maybe it’s even something in the back of your head that makes you do it intentionally.
You slip. The falling begins.
You begin to fall. It’s really a slow process at first, but it builds on it’s self with a frightening speed.
Falling is amazing. You want to scream about it, to tell the world. You feel exhilaration like none other. At the same time you want to vomit. The fear would be all consuming without that exhilaration.
The weightlessness makes you momentarily forget the world – all that matters is the feeling. A freedom that can only be experienced when falling takes over you. For there is only this moment now – there is no yesterday, there is no tomorrow, only the falling, because you know when that falling stop finally, it’s going to hurt like hell.
——— Writing Notes ———–
I’m not sure what the hell to file this under
I was driving back from Cheney to Wichita while pondering the nature of love, and how falling in love feels – I’ve been there a number of times. I wanted to capture it from the perspective of someone with all those fears from the previous times they’ve fallen. The cliche “falling in love” sort of thing came to mind, and well, this ended up being written in that 25 minute drive.