Standing at the Edge of a New Cliff.

woman, art, cliff, lighthouse

Winter comes in with such a vengeance that one cannot help but to compare it to the inevitability of all things dying. I told him a long time ago how morbid I could be. Usually, he never seemed to care or mind. Today however, he doesn’t seem likely to humor me.

[395] days into this losing game and I remember it began with a single act of bravery. We believed anything was possible, even if some of our vital pieces were missing. At first this little unspoken agreement worked out well. We were much more compatible than we ever cared to be.

Maybe this was the problem.

Every time we touched, a spark would seductively dance underneath my skin. It was an electric chemistry that made me want to smoke whenever he looked in my direction. A forbidden sort of energy that would lead us nowhere but to–a definite catastrophe.

I knew he wasn’t ready.

That small voice nagged at the back of my subconscious. Telling me I would suffer greatly if I chose to proceed. I was willing to suffer, so long as I could take him with me. Not understanding the type of necessary peace I was sacrificing. How, very silly and immature of me. I learned from that relationship, that sacrifice was a two-way street.

Now I stand timidly on the edge of a new cliff. It would be a beautiful way to end this obsession with perilous things that were never meant for me. This new path does not question if I am good enough. It knows I have already grieved and endured way too much.

Hopefully I’ll find the courage to jump off.