You’re high above ground with one foot on the line, below a gut-wrenching ravine, above the skies so divine.
You’re about to ambulate a shaky one-inch rope that depicts this fickle life, with all its trials and hopes.
Once you’ve set foot, there’s no turning back. You better know what you’re doing, the rope bounces with slack.
The line you’re about to walk is as thin as a crisp, mate. On the one end there’s apathy, on the other is hate.
The middle, though, ah… that’s where the balance is had. The place where all is peachy, nothing frustrates, hurts nor feels sad.
I see you chuckling, thinking: “This place doesn’t exist!” It does…kinda sorta…but it’s as fleeting as the mist.
You still dare to step forward, what gives you such trust? The walk is exhilarating and you know you’re robust.
Winds will attempt to shake you, you will stumble, maybe slip. But your inner compass is pure your feet will maintain a solid grip.
Look, you’ve got this. Go on now. Shoo. If anyone can walk this, it’s you. It’s always been you.