Edgy Cowardice

The rustle of leaves. Perhaps the edges graze longing…I hesitate…hesitancy a refuge, at times the only concrete attitude that survives abstract thoughts.

The fear of loss perhaps brings a hesitancy to be loved so. Or maybe, to be loved beyond oneself, to be loved in spite of yourself, creates a terror of love.

Then I bundle up a vague emotion, I move into myself, further into realms only I can fathom.

The coward in the human, the fear of loss edges love to the ends of an abyss. Yet that undying human spirit that moves forward for every backward movement of life’s setbacks.