Standing on a ledge but cannot look down.
I don’t fear heights. I won’t jump or fall. I am just firmly planting my feet to see what I can feel and feel what I cannot see.
I am afraid. I am afraid of a depth I know but cannot touch. I am afraid of touching what is raw in my heart because the beat goes on with or without love. I am afraid of what I have lost and may not find. I am terrified.
This is not the terror of madness. This is the terror of sanity. This is the terror of looking truth in the eye and realizing I could go blind.
So I stand on this ledge of image and metaphor and dig in my heels and bite my nails. I am ridding myself of all the edges. I want to reach in without any sharps to make what’s hurt won’t bleed more. I want to reach in and find a nugget to take me through the night so I can face tomorrow. I want to find calm my fingertips feel and my heart does not. I want to shred the rage until it becomes flower petals.
I want to love again.
I want passion to bud in me…not the passion of rage but the passion of caring so deeply for who I am I will do anything and everything to soften.
I want to soften in the arms of a love I trusted, and trust again. I want to soften into a dream of memory of what used to be, even when it wasn’t. I want to soften into my anguish and find all my parts until I am whole.
I want to be whole. I want to settle the score in my third eye that needs to see past the grief. I want to see what is true and what is false. I want to rise from the ashes and find my wings. I want to fly.
I want to fly beyond this moment into a moment of holding all I am on the ledge and look down and know this ledge belongs to no one else. It’s mine. I want to see all that is below and embrace all that is above and realize there is nothing beyond now.
I want now to give me ease. I want to hold now with tenderness. I want to take the seed of love I know and give it light and water. I want to know healing takes time. I want time. I want to give what I know and know it will be seen for what it is:
A heart cracked open willing to bleed.
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Ed: Sara Crolick