hendelar

sometimes you just gotta' row

it’s not the tumble

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it grows on you, the edge.
you become accustomed to living there and so don’t even notice, can’t discern, the plummet.

you startle with the belly-flop splat and the clammy grope from below the mire.
reality kicks in the doors; its truth slams flat your fumbling question.

it’s the landing

glh

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Written by glh

January 31, 2011 at 22:57

Posted in Letting Go, noticing

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