Just as the World Tilts Forward

Just as the world tilts forward,

the road drops here.

Not with warning signs,

nor with painted arrows or dimming lights

but with a sudden hush,

as if the world itself inhaled and forgot to exhale.

The trees on either side lean in,

their shadows folding across the cracked tar.

Branches creak like old bones,

and even the wind pauses,

unsure whether to carry me forward

or drag me back.

I stand still.

For a moment, I am both a traveler and a statue.

Feet restless.

Heart stubborn and aching.

Eyes wide at the way the horizon bends downward

like a page torn out of a story mid-sentence.

What if life works like this?

Dropping us without warning into chapters we never rehearsed?

The asphalt frays into dust,

and the dust loosens into silence.

Somewhere far off,

a bird circles but refuses to land.

The air smells of dust

as though rain has been promised but not delivered.

I ask myself:

is this the end of the road,

or the beginning of another?

A cliff,

or a bridge disguised as a fall?

A punishment,

or a promise?

No one answers.

The silence here has its own gravity.

It pulls at my chest,

tugs at my ankles,

whispers: Step forward. Find out.

I think of my father, who once said the hardest choices arrive without a signpost. He was right.

I remember footsteps behind me

the laughter of friends,

the hum of voices that once filled my days.

Now only echoes remain,

and they scatter quickly,

like pebbles tossed into deep water.

Every road I have walked has prepared me for this.

The easy ones with their streetlamps and music.

The rough ones with their mud and broken glass.

The lonely ones where no voice followed mine.

But this?

This is different.

The drop doesn’t ask for strength.

It asks for surrender.

I close my eyes and imagine

what lies below?

A valley carved by patience.

A void where names go to sleep?

A sea that swallows stories whole?

I think of all the falls I have survived:

falling from grace,

falling out of love,

falling into silence when words betrayed me.

Each time,

I discovered the ground beneath me was softer than fear had promised.

Maybe that’s what resilience is, learning to trust the ground even when you can’t see it.

The road here is cruel and kind at once.

Cruel, because it refuses to explain itself.

Kind, because it gives me a choice.

I could turn back,

walk the path I already know

safe, predictable,

a map already drawn.

Or I could step forward.

Let the drop claim me.

Let the unknown redraw my story.

And isn’t that what life does, always?

Just when we believe we’ve found steady ground,

it tilts.

It shifts.

It dares us to leap without wings.

The drop here is not the end.

It is a mirror.

It shows me my fear,

my hunger for meaning,

my thirst for freedom.

I do not know if falling is the same as flying.

But I know the road does not care.

It only waits.

And I must decide

If I step forward, will I lose myself?

or

will I finally find who I am?