// part of a soul project
I teeter. To one side lays an aged battle with Shame, steeped in sepulcher. To the other side stands Triumph, all aglory in the exercising of newfound will.
And I teeter. I pose poised at point. I dare not breathe for fear of falling. Perhaps if I hold my breath long enough the Earth itself might fall away in wisps of smoke and soil, fall away beneath me to leave me only floating, cradled by more molecules. I imagine the warmth of it. I am weirdly comforted by this vision.