There Something Somewhere Doing Something

I feel as though I am on the precipice.

There is a great fall before me, and what is at the bottom, well, time knows.

And God knows time.

And I, well I, I simply do not know:

What is keeping me here, on this edge, here waiting for a push.

Or a slip of the foot.

I'm not sure if I'm worried or excited, and I'm not if this unknown feeling is for the fall or the inevitable moment when I land and must take stock of my new surroundings.

Sometimes everything feels so surreal that the idea that it is really real feels simply sacrilegious.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this blog like this,

this almost poem-but-still-not style of writing.

I always feel that poetry loses quite a bit in the transfer between mind and paper. Like within those few seconds, a wind gently shifts through the room and steals some of the magic.

Of course, I wouldn't be presumptuous enough to call this poetry, why, it doesn't even rhyme.

Of course, life doesn't either, and it still has that literary beauty to it that is just beyond the realms of the narrative.

Now I'm talking in prose and the meaning is all but lost, and I'm sure thats symbolic of something, maybe my desire to stagnate, a desire to not jump off this cliff.

But I think

I think

I would if I could.

But

there seems to be a wall in the way.