When I was a child I walked up to the edge of a cliff. As I stared down at the water crashing against the rocks I thought about all of the possibilities that would result from my jumping. I thought of the rush of the fall, the cool water washing over me, and the tender embrace of the sun as I rise out of the water to a wave of extacy crashing over me. However, the more I thought about it, the more I thought about the alternative, the off chance I should miss or fail, misread the jump and fall flat on my face. The thought of this made me tremble with fear, like a virus it spread, contaminating even my most confident of thoughts. I tried. I lifted my foot and went to step off the ledge. But my legs wouldn't move. My body didn't respond to what my brain told it to do. I stood there paralyzed, unable to move. Now here I am today at the edge of another cliff. Once again looking over the edge unable to jump. Only the cliff is no longer a cliff, but your lips. And just like before, when I see them, I see all of the possiblilities where it may go wrong. Every time we meet, I try to jump but I fail. And the more I fail the harder it becomes to try again. Am I destined to never feel the rush of the free fall or the crash in the water or the suns warm embrace?
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