Scratched hapless phrases into a journal, felt the weight of the gray morning on my mind, and with some effort, rolled the ink into one line:
Letting go is not the same as falling.
And I did not fear falling, but I had no idea how tightly I was holding on to the ropes and tangles that bound me. Face against cool granite. Knees knocking against a cliff.
The coiled imprints on my soul were marks of freedom. Rope burns were signs of faithfulness. I was tethered to a small world.
It took burning questions to char the cord and snap the tensile and when I finally released my grip, I found my feet on the dirt. There was no fall. There was only this belief of height, dismantled.
There was just the wind and the rope where I left it, braided cords nudged by the breeze. My lifeline, lifeless.
My soul, alive.
What I believed, within.
And so, I went to look for you.