with every leap comes a fall

a dive into rejection: plunging, stumbling and soaring
--
"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.