The Jump 

You held out your hand and I accepted. This dance we did. 

A baby bird, the leap I took, innocence gone in an instant we flew.

There was blissful nothingness. No existence, existence. 

If you’re good you may stand back from the edge, you may stand on it, look over, contemplate the jump. You might reach a hand over or turn around and look back. But once you’ve jumped, you can’t go back.

Marked as a jumper, if you flew, and soared high and low, above the tree line of normalcy. societal delinquent, how could you go over the edge.

You jumper, how could you lose control? 

The jump was calculated, navigated, acted out and practiced. Felt and listed. Debated and discussed. Safety checks and plans. This was control. 

I took the leap. 

I live in dirt and ground and leaves. But now I stop jumping and I fly. 

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