Falling.

Falling.

From an unknown source, I fall ironically, again, into the unknown. Is it the fear of the destination that sends this crippling sense of dread up my spine? Is it a subconscious recognition of the destination which my mind refuses to recognize that crushes my hope, and kills my feeling of safety? Or perhaps, is it not the destination, but instead the unknown, that creates the feeling that is undoubtedly overcoming my person?

Falling.

As my mind burns itself at the stake of confusion, attempting to drive the stake of knowledge through its heart, it, like a true prosecuted witch, pulls a magic trick. It stops. Stops questioning the destination, the motivation, the declaration, of my voyage into the unknown. In place now of that lost sense of hopelessness, I find solace.

Falling.

And although my body experiences the fall and the inevitable assertion of what the destination is, my mind is not along for the ride.

Falling.

I am falling, but I have not yet truly fallen.