The edge and the leap.

I've reached this point.
I feel like I'm on the edge of something, something huge.
Like the edge of a cliff.
And I can't turn around.
Because all that's behind me is a jumble or a mess or a blur.
I don't what any of it means, and I can't piece together the remnants.
All I can sense is the reminder that I can't go back.
So now, here I stand.
Looking down, knowing I should close my eyes and jump.
But still, wishing I could return.
Wishing the pieces would fall back into place.
Wishing I could retrace the steps that brought me to this point.
Holding onto the familiar, the safe, the past.
Replaying images in my head, voices in my ears.
It hurts.
Every second that I wish I could go back is like the pounding of a nail.
Anchoring me to this point.
This point of false security.
This point of fear and regret and pain.
I want to jump.
I want to let go.
And I don't want the fear that no one will catch me keep me from taking the leap.