Ropes

It comes rushing in.

Like a beacon of hope, of a cure long waited for.

Like the ranting, of a populous crowd, suddenly stops.

Like a warm ambiance suddenly being ice cold.

Like a tiger finally breathing in, holding on to a breath before jumping on a prey.

Nothing else seems to matter.

Like blood boiling to its temporal points.

It pounces on you.

It doesn’t matter if you called to it.

It just rushes in, devouring every inch of every nerve.

It is more than a want, less of a basic need.

You didn’t need it, but now that it’s there, you can’t seem to go your lifetime without.

You’re courageous, but it seems not to recognize that.

On a constant feeding, never ending to your limits.

Sweat builds up, bringing satisfactory feeling.

Of a position you wanted to be in for so long.

But there you were, next to the edge of the bridge.

Sure with each passing inhale, and exhale.

So you jump.

Sure enough you won’t fly, but trusting enough something will pull you up.

The rope tied to your body.

A security of assurance that once it’s over, it’ll be scrapped off your bucket list.

That rush of adrenaline, the moment you step of a bungee jump.

Realizations creep in, there’s a limit of how low can you go.

The sky has never been a limit.

The cringing limit of how low you can go before bouncing back up is the real question of your ropes to answer.

ropes

 

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About menjustpause

Your Averagely Depressed Guy

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