05/21/2009

All I hear is the sound of rain falling on the ground.

My indifference to tomorrow is palpable.   As usual.

Somewhere up ahead of me there is a cliff.  Walking forward in the fog, I can’t see it, I just know it’s there.  I’m reluctant to move because some latent sense of self-preservation tells me that every step I take increases the odds of the next one being my last.  And yet, with each step, I find myself disappointed, let down, because now I have to take another one.  Terrified that next one will be my last, but worried that it WON’T be.

Each day, I tell myself I can’t take much more.  But I keep returning for more.  Which means I’m a fucking masochist or just fucking stupid.

Someday, this WILL kill me.  Someday, my foot will fall not onto the safety of solid ground, but rather onto empty swallowing space.  The cliff is THERE, and I am getting closer.

Unless it’s a calculus problem, where I will approach the end but never actually reach it, my steps growing smaller and smaller the closer I get.

With that logic, I’m not really standing on the ground at all.