The call of the void.
Everyone knows the feeling – the feeling that only the French understand.
The need to test faith and fate.
The urge to jump.
It is delicate and broken
Pieces of glass swept beneath the carpet
A shine in the midst of the swirls and whorls of dust.
It is better not spoken of.
We are obsessed the fall, the plummet through time.
We mimic it
Pretend to be brave.
We all feel the gritty harness.
Why do we fall?
Because we are afraid?
Because we know we’re trembling and reaching out hands?
Because somehow, somewhere we lost our wings and have been searching in garret attics and old trunks and beneath beds?
Maybe it is because we know that if we fall we may be caught.
If we fall we may be found.
We crash through space because maybe
Someone will hold out a hand and catch us.
We enter the void.