And I think the whole point of it all was to make yourself bleed. To feel something so much that it inhabited every portion of your soul. Until you were drenched from every angle, covered in dirt, and became the same idea with which you’d carved all those holes into your heart.
Because I’d spent a long time skimming the surface. And doing something with 50% interest was more of a drag than anything else. There was no fun in standing on the fence, to have one hand on the railing; to be comfortable in your compartment instead of hanging in the doorway of a moving train with the sweat running over your face.
No I couldn’t see anything apart from that white light in the horizon. And yes I’d made up my path in my mind but honestly I knew nothing at all. I was uncertain; I was doubtful. I just knew that it would break me open, that I had to jump from the ledge without any thought of anything else. Because that was the only way I’d find out the truth about what I was.