Love's Potential

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

The potential of love in a life once lost.

 

The rocks along the edge of my poisonous path that cling to flimsy faith frequently fall into oblivion as I watch with fear and curiosity. My feet are merely inches from the edge and the rocks fall in such a constant rhythm that its oddly soothing and I sometimes forget how absolute the line can be. Without the ground beneath our feet we are simply informed yet rightly terrified victims of gravity. Everyone knows which way is down and getting there tends to happen viciously. Our balance and equilibrium fail us as we tumble incessantly yet inside we feel fine, as if we are contently upright with our feet planted firmly where its imagined we have control. The edge can be elusive and the fantastic fall at the end can fool almost anyone with its beauty. Sadly, the bottom is eagerly waiting to consume your remains and dispel any ideas of grandeur that you once insisted you would be.

Before you came along I was withering slowly, the swaying wind battering my weak and weary soul. Once a man of substance and principals, I was deteriorating, falling apart. Ironically, I was dismantling in nearly perfect harmony with the very cliff side that was delaying my fall. Death was certain in my mind. My only hand with decent grip was cracking at its core. The blood and sweat where unwanted reminders of how far I had came and the things I had destroyed along my self-inflicted downward spiral of selfishness and shame. Salting my infectious wounds was the constant reminder that those same filthy, pain-riddled hands were the only hope I had of feeling the rocks beneath my body, providing a solid platform for me to rise, whatever is left amongst this shattered pile anyway. And just as my last finger turned red from the rushing of blood and proceeded to lose grip I tightened my pale and aching hand into a fist, my final rebellion to a gruesome and unforgiving death.

With tightly clinched eyes the fall could not be noticed. Being afraid of heights I only assumed this was one last bitter trick to give me hope before the rocks protruded into my brain, devouring said hope alongside the birds as they devoured the real me, the splattered blood and guts of an idealistic man, yet no resemblance lingered. Turned inside out on a splintered rock wasn't what I meant when I said I had a lot of great things inside me to share. Thankfully, your loving hand was holding me, allowing me to fly. I built up the courage to open my eyes, and through blurred and gritty vision I saw you drag me from my grave. Your pristine poise and unwavering strength gave me a reliable truth to seek, a healthy hunger to strive for, a family to relentlessly fight for, and an undying love to live for.


Submitted: March 27, 2012

© Copyright 2020 Vin Son. All rights reserved.

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