You are well acquainted with my fascination with edges, both real and metaphorical. My mind is occupied today with something that skates on the surface of every edge.
—
Fear.
It entrances me. Between what I want and what I can have is a gap, a sliver of space, black and sharp. If I could exist forever, it would be there. Time does not slow. It stops.
Breathing patterns my desires, my fingers gripping, careful – careful, not too tightly, yet, just a handhold, a place to place. I craft each unbalanced step atop unbalanced step, weaving my wants in and out of the spaces between. One whisper to topple it all. Delicate, half-starved, never pleading, quite beguiling, I push.
What is on the other side is never quite as exciting as what it takes to get there. This journey is the fear of not getting what I want.
Fear of danger? A different, but no less intoxicating fear.
This I draw with tight circles; it is in the presence, a cult of personality enforced by unrelenting form, hands and will driving you back against the wall. Leaving you uncertain despite an unshaken trust in me. I make you falter. I make you shake. I make you fear.
But I never make you doubt.