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Rim

Crawling the rim

I’m on the rim of the cup of the thought of you. It started with an emptiness that felt heavenly – warm, ready to receive. Slowly the cup filled with your presence and knowledge. Then suddenly, like all else good that must end, the cup reached its limit. Now I find myself on its rim, straddling the heaven and hell of moments I crave inside and darkness I dread outside.

Inside is you in your deadness, because all that’s inside is memories, and they’re all dead because they’re all in the past. Outside is the future but it’s pitch black because you’re so completely spread over my horizon that wherever you’re not, light cannot be.

Dressed in all white with shoes of indecision, I walk along the curved ledge, sometimes looking within sometimes without. There’s dark on both sides: your burning hot black coffee inside and the unlight of the unknown on the other side. There’s a slim chance I could fall in and survive. After all, it’s floating on this venom that I rose up to where I am now. It’s a slim chance however.

The more likely possibility is that I’ll fall off and into what I don’t know. The trouble is that I fear that right now because I’m just emerging from your cup. I know in my head I’ll be alright after the fall, but the fall itself won’t be pretty. So for now I’ll delay the moment of decision and postpone taking any action, and just walk around your cup some more.

Sometimes I speed up. Those are the moments where I get hopeful that I might have a surviving chance falling back into you. The excitement reflexively quickens my pace and I only slow down when I stumble. Other times I walk slower than normal, when I’m contemplating no longer delaying the inevitable and taking the plunge to the outside. It’ll hurt I tell myself, but the sooner I do it the sooner it’ll all be over.

Immersed in this exercise of rumination, dressed in all white with shoes of indecision, I would make a popular museum piece for adults and children alike to watch and wonder what this grown man is doing traversing the rim of a cup.

“Where does he expect to go with this?” “What’s he going to do? Is he going to do anything?” These are my friends, the ones who see my plight but can’t experience it until they’re walking on that rim. They sympathize, I’m sure of it, but they can’t empathize, so they watch and wonder and even worry.

How long I’ll walk the rim of this cup of your thought I don’t know. Maybe another cup will get placed alongside this one, near enough to jump ship and avoid the darkness and the unknown.

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