with every leap comes a fall
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a dive into rejection: plunging, stumbling and soaring
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"You can do this," they say, in their whispers and late-night calls and hallway flyer slogans. "You can. Don't worry."
Their voices are slender fingers caressing me. Lifting me. I listen to them because the message is tempting, a siren-song, one that will swallow me if I close my ears. Heeding their words is survival.
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#70
prosepoetry
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Notes
" You didn't tell me it was going to be this hard . " " Oh but I didn't say it was going to be easy , but I did say we'd make it didn't I .? " " I can recall , yes . " " Than trust me , I love you . " " Do you mean it .? " " Yes and I'll say it until the day I can't produce breath from my lungs . "Complete
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