Verge

In which I made a decision

I can’t get between my ribs to that stuttering heart.

(I think there might be something wrong with it, but the warranty ran out a while ago.)

My brain seems to have turned into one of those big glass bubbles with ping pong balls of thought flying in every direction.

New thought: utterly irrelevant.

New thought: completely nonsensical. 

Lungs still seem to be working though, focus on that.

There’s familiarity, sure, but also a realisation that there’s so much unknown behind the line you toed. Familiar never felt so strange.

In air cooled by rain long due, risk marries possibility and spins excitement into anxiety’s arms in a nauseatingly glorious waltz.

I can’t find another footing, the next handhold is in the dark, and it’s a bit of a bloody nightmare for someone who likes to satellite view every journey before she takes it.

That’s life, apparently. 

I’m not sure I’ve been designed to the necessary specification to cope with it. 

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