By Risè Kirbo
Vulnerable, I have my arms up over my head. My fingers are spread wide. I feel something solid under my palms. It feels soft and moist, like clay. Then my hands begin to slip and I start sliding down.
I gasp and my breath catches in my throat as my fingertips desperately try to claw their way in. And, for one brief moment I think I might gain purchase, stop myself and hold tightly to the control and the knowing.
And in that same instant, it is gone. Irrevocably.
I am sliding into an abyss leaving wavy finger trails above me. I am surrendering, as I slide deeper into a smooth dark tunnel.
I am blind.
I am graceful and liquid.
I am nothing more than the air itself and nothing less.
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