Sometimes I get sort of nervous. Worried. (Indefinitely jealous but that's another story.) Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right things. Sometimes I have to ask myself how safe it is to do this again, to offer myself up to walk that tightened heart-string over a familiar lake of caustic lava, and for what? The chance that I'll fall again? The chance that I'll burn?
The chance that you'll push me?
And then I stop being ridiculous and I take a few moments to truly think about it. If this isn't one of those things in life worth risking for my dear, then what the fuck is?
Because, what do I get if I stay on that rope? You.
What do I get if I fall? Nothing.
What do I get if I never try? Nothing.
To never try seems eerily similar, doesn't it?
It was absurd to think so much, anyway. I have that problem-- I think too much without being rational. I know myself well enough to know that I love that warm comfortable heat that comes from standing so may stories above heartbreak. I love the feel of that string cutting into my skin.
I couldn't stand to give up a chance to feel it again. I'd jump in a heartbeat onto that rope, even assured it would break, just to feel that feeling for one final second before I crash and burn. Just to entertain that glimmer of hope that it might hold.
Because that is a risk I'd just have to take.