I could never imagine what the feeling of standing on a tight rope between two 500-foot-high buildings is like. So I've been walking the tight rope for about 15 weeks now, and I still can't figure out how to balance myself well enough to get through to the other side without falling into the darkness of the night below me. Those stories are waiting to watch me drop down, the endless glare of their glossy window panes reflecting the night. Their hatred and satisfaction of seeing me fail echoes through the cold, empty town full of dormant innocents in their homes. No one can help me. They are all too far in their own minds and rests to stir and look at the heavens, spotting the single shadowed figure walking the thin string along both ends.
One slip of the foot, it's all over.
A single millimeter off to the side, the wrong angle of an ankle, I'm done.
It's easier said than done, but now that I've gone on and said it, I've to go on and done it. A promise is never broken, a vow is never forgotten. If I promised you I'd be the best, there is nothing less than perfection expected of me. You believed in me. Always. Many times you were the one that walked the rope before me and paved the way for my greatness. You were the introduction to the world I needed, the foot in the door that allowed me to step inside. You were the flawless tight rope walker after whom I mirrored my footsteps and counted my breaths. You helped me through the night and the day, even the morning sun shone on us as we made our way across the darkest hour of the night.
But, what is this? I see not darkness any longer! How did the blackness suddenly recede?
It was never dark, you said to me, it was the blindfold over your eyes that created the night in your heart.
