by Ronda Suder
She is standing at the edge of the cliff.
One more step, and the ravine might suck her in.
She’ll fall into the abyss, fighting to be seen again.
The weight might hold her down.
Though she won’t sink. She won’t float.
She’ll be held in the in-between.
Waiting.
Wondering.
Hoping.
Praying.
Dying.
Growing.
Hoping again.
Praying again.
Dying again.
Growing again.
Hoping…
Always hoping.
Growing…
Always growing.
The weight will feel too heavy for her to escape at times.
But the will within will ensure she does.
She is standing at the edge of the cliff.
One step in the wrong direction could mean she doesn’t breathe easy for a while,
maybe never again.
One step in the right direction could mean she doesn’t breathe easy for a while,
maybe never again.
Or, the complete opposite could be true.
Or, somewhere in between might exist.
This is her story, moment by moment.
She writes it,
one chapter at a time,
one page at a time,
one line at a time,
one word at a time.
It is still being written.
The end is yet to be told.
She is standing at the edge of the cliff.
And through it all, she builds her bridge to the other side.
Ronda Suder 
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