edges

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The edge is the difference between leaping and landing, between solid ground and not quite knowing what’s beyond the leap.

Suspension.

The edge is where things change.

The edge might be a cliff.

Then again, sometimes the edge feels like a cliff, but is actually a tiny line we only have to step over in order to arrive in a new land.

The edge is a place where things meet: an opportunity for exchange.

An opportunity for change.

The edge is a question: will we shake hands, will you walk away, will one of us hurt the other?

The edge is a question. How will you answer?

The edge can make us stop, take stock. Choose to leap or choose to recede.

The edge is a moment when things could go either way.

The edge leaves me breathless.

The edge draws me to it like another country, like the ocean, like your smile.

Recognition.

At the border, towns rely on each other. They need the other side to survive.

At the edges of my heart, I need all sides to survive (inside, outside, inside-out).

At the coast, sand transforms into water.

At the edge of my heart, transformation (mine, yours, ours) has a chance.

Sand into water. One town into the next. Skin into skin. A touch, a look.

Life intersects. Lives intersect.

The edge is a pause between the inhale and exhale. We don’t stop breathing entirely —  just long enough to rise and release, like the tide.

Or just long enough to allow a moment before the next breath, moving through the exchange, the change, passing over the line, or through the gate, or over the cliff to new ground —

like the wind, like waves, like a hand reaching out, like a kiss, like a leap,
then swimming forward,
ready or not.

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