Height

The height beckons to me like a mother calling her child. There’s a fascination it has held for me. I rise up to the clouds, the air rushing past me. But there’s an inhibition that refuses to let me be free. Its like it tries to blow my hair but the plaits refuse to budge, like it tries to make me flow but my consciousness refuses to let go. Maybe I have to learn to fall before I learn to rise. The fear was the inhibition and the fall would teach me how to let go.

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