So here I am standing on the edge trusting you, ready to jump and trust that you will catch me. Yet, still ever fearful that you just wont. Maybe you want to catch me, maybe you want to be the one at the bottom of the cavern. But maybe you don’t. I want to take the chance, I want to step forward. Fall, and see what happens. But I am not half as strong as I claim to be. I want to take this leap, but behind me is fear. Anchoring me to where I know I am safe. Yet in order for me to live I need to take a chance, go down a road where I have not gone before. However, this road, leading to the precipice where I now stand is eerily familiar. For I have walked a similar one like it four or five times before. And every time there was no one to catch me, no one at the bottom, just an illusion from a hopeful mind. The person that I thought would catch me never appeared. Maybe I read the clues wrong, but either way, no one was there. The last time…actually the last two, I never jumped. I analyzed, poked and prodded. But all I got was doubt, and more fear. Maybe this time, and maybe the last two, there is someone there to catch me, waiting at the bottom with open arms, staring up and waiting, yelling for me to jump, but I cant see her, and the chasm is too deep for sound. Maybe this time I will undo these chains that anchor me, and just take a step.
Soul Sailor
The wind died. The sails, which just moments ago had been full of life tugging and yanking the boat in the direction the captain wanted, had fallen still. The Ship was a beautiful dark Blue. The Captain, in his 20s, simply looked up at the sails, and then around the water, nothing. Scanning the clouds he could see there would be no wind for a while. The ships name glimmered Bright gold against the dark backdrop. Without a Doub, a pun, A private one at that. True it poked a little fun at the fact the captain could not spell very well, but the joke was more of a reminder. The last name of his first love, true he’d never forgotten her, but the feelings he had for her had long ago faded away. They existed as memories, and lived on in this stupid private joke that no one understood. He still remembered what she looked like. Smooth, soft face, a warm smile, with a hint of Tomboy, she had a strength he could admire, and love, eyes that were somehow understanding, and soft. He could remember times just talking to her he could look into them and get lost for a while, forget the people around him and just be. The closest he had ever gotten to that feeling was this sail boat. Memories of how they played flooded to mind, just pretending to be working on the Enterprise or DS9. Then one memory come to mind. It was a sleep over, at a friends…whose was it…Beacon, Michael Beacon’s, The captain and her had been running around the house chasing each other, almost Flirting in that 13 year old kind of way. They had been called in by some of the parents to stop running and he looked at her. She was just beautiful. Then he slapped her, not hard, just lightly on the side playfully. She was stunned, obviously realizing the game was still on and again they resumed their game. A few minutes after that and he was under the bed, hiding, playing the game. He was a fool back then. Then that one memory surfaced, when he told her how he felt. He had imagined it a few times and he was scared. It still amazed him how one of the smallest words in the English language could conjure such a power full emotion as fear and despair: No. he tried once before, but the words would not come, the command was given but the mouth would not listen. He tried dropping hints, using analogies to Greek goddesses of love, but they went past her. So he wrote a note. It read: Dear Molly: I think I like you, but I am too afraid to tell you in person. There was more but it was so long ago that the rest had faded. He folded it up and gave it to her. She never responded. That memory was the worst one. She Never responded, she did not even act as if she read the note, all the courage it took to actually hand her the note wasted. And the emotions died slowly never knowing if they hit home or not. Either way, that was behind him now. The ruminants of that trail only remained in the bad joke of a name. looking into the water he could see how much had changed since then. He must have been 8 when that happened. 12 years had passed. He wondered how she was, and if she was still as beautifull as ever. Just then the wind picked up, and the captain returned to sailing home. As the ship faded into the sea the name was still almost readable. Without a Doub.
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