to kiss the edge of death

When last I kissed the edge of death, I sniffed its form and heard its shape. I saw its voice and trembled.

So close was I.

I groped at who I once had been, and channelled my self in that moment, seeking a glimpse of who I yet could be. I felt the life which had been mine echo deep in the abyss and muffle that which yet might be.

Across milestones past, and those that cusped, and those that were held in promise; I saw the potential endowed to me at birth flow through the forks in the road I chosen and tease all the forks I had forsaken. All these conspired to bring me here, as if twisted into parallel destinies which bound my fate to this very precipice.

In silence, they stared me down.

Inviting me to leap.

At the edge of death they gathered; chance, possibility and will — a most curious congregation. Yet at the edge of death they scattered, and dared my life-force bid them be.