I stand on the edge of the precipice, watching the waves hundreds of feet below. You need silence for stillness, for the emergence of novel ideas, new sounds, glory. Glory? Only the glory that comes with a flower blooming, a moth emerging from a cocoon, a wet rock that appears and reappears with the beating of the waves.

“Do you have it?”

I don’t know. It’s all so much, isn’t it? To want something you can’t put your finger on. I feel like I crawled from the ocean and scaled the cliffs, instead of hiking here from the roadside. There is pain. In my teeth and throat. Real honest to god pain. My teeth are worn and cracking and sometimes I think the coughing is the cancer that will kill me. When I stop moving, when the sensation and the tumult stops it’s still there, humming like the cities, the endless flow of humanity.

“It’s white noise.”

And this is half-baked mysticism. But it will do. It will have to suffice. For now, anyway. I don’t have the words to say it any other way… No, I’m not going to jump. I don’t have it in me to jump off a real cliff, or a metaphorical one. But I can try not to let myself be submerged.

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