on pushing the limits
mostly the self-imposed ones, the ones that keep your feet sunk ankle deep in the mud of doubt, the ones that don’t leave any footprints, so no one else can follow.
or the ones that leave you standing alone in a field full of possibilities with no map, no compass, no food, no water.
they are crafty, these limits, they know how to get their own way, how to trick you into believing the sweet nothings they whisper in your ear, candy-coated barely audible murmurs that later become exactly what they are:
they like to build boxes up around you of wood and of steel, then marry you to your fear and give you pretty wrapped packages filled with nothing but questions. always, the questions.
i’ve been living the questions for so long that i’ve forgotten why
i need to know the answers.
this is not despair, it’s a realization. i prefer that to despair, which feeds on itself like a morbid cannibal. there is never too much, there is always enough. no limits, there.
i choose instead to understand my limits, but not to accept them.
i refuse to open the package with the tag that says you cannot, or the one that says you will fall, or even the one that says perhaps.
i kick them all into the corner and watch as they mingle with themselves, a bit of dust, and notes from a girl who once believed those phrases of fear.
there is, however, one package left on the table, with a tag that says tomorrow.
but i’m not going to open that one, either.
at least not until it gets here.