I creep out of the edge, right there, the end of it, hovering over the darkness I sit and look out and hope that nobody is watching.

My fingers are white and they grip. Hard.

They are tired and stuck in this same position holding me above ground high above ground so far above that if I fall there is no reason to think I would ever hit the ground.

Can you come and sit with me for awhile? I

ask the wind as it howls and wraps itself around me making my skin cold and damp.

Can you just come and wrap yourself around me? Just for a moment?

It hisses in my ear as it goes by, the wind doesn’t care about me.

So I ask time, please, please just slow down a little please, give me a few more minutes so that I can just rest, so I can hear the roses growing in the garden.

But time doesn’t care about me either.

It keeps going by, agonizing seconds that I am stuck here wasting on the edge.

And finally I ask gravity to give me some semblance of solace, and in my ear it whispers,”my dear I already have, why are you so afraid to fall?”

A Short Conversation is a collection of stories, thoughts, and general musing. I like to write like I'm slamming a door; loudly, and with purpose.

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