The Moment Between Falling and Flight

There’s always a moment

before the wings remember—

a quiet pause between heartbeat and horizon,

where everything inside you asks,

Are you sure?

_______________**

The ledge feels loyal then.

It hums with safety,

with the comfort of staying small.

The air ahead looks endless,

a blur of maybe and mistake.

And still, something in you leans forward—

not out of recklessness,

but from a hunger older than fear.

_______________**

The others stay.

They watch,

their feet steady on the stone,

their eyes tracing your shadow

as it leaves them behind.

But you know:

some lives are meant to be witnessed,

and some are meant to leap.

_______________**

The drop is not gentle.

The wind does not promise to hold you.

Yet even as the fall begins,

you feel the faint tremor of wings

remembering their work.

That is how flight begins—

not with certainty,

but with surrender.

_______________**

So fall, little one.

Let the sky decide your name.

For even if you never rise the same again,

you will have touched the edge of becoming—

and that is something the still ones

will never know.

***

Thank you so much for reading.