About dying and living again.

I walk and watch companions and strangers oscillate in the line of life, sometimes the rope for being fragile, wobbles. Some stay in balance, others can't stand the sudden movement. Living is a sport that demands your sanity and we are constantly tested. How much do you support? How big is the wave you face?
Or do you let yourself be carried to the beach after feeling scared and tired?

I stood between the portals, lost my balance for a moment and fell into the depths of the boundary between being alive and not being.

It's dark, but not painful.

No familiar faces emerge, no one rescues you. The silence of death is soft like no other, a silence within other silences.

They pulled me back.

Lots of faces, tears and fear. Where I was walking peacefully, I couldn't go back, I couldn't rescue such a solid decision even though I've always been so indecisive.

In the end, I question myself today about who I am. I'm back on the tightrope that bends when it wants to, and throws it down without warning. It wasn't my time.

To live is to wait for the time to avoid the stumbling block. Keep watch, don't relax.

The line is fragile, but you don't have to be.

Source: Pixabay