There is a place only I can go.
A walking place, a simple tightrope strung between two rocky crags.
When winter comes the rocks freeze and mist settles between the mountains,
hiding the dragons,
hiding the knights.
I walk the tightrope eternally, picking my way back and forth.
Crows watch and occasionally settle to laugh at my
Sometimes, when the moon is gone, I think of what would happen if
I were to trip. Would it hurt to fall or would the sensation be
an escape, like flying, before the darkness took me?
I think about the monsters that snuggle in the shadows,
about how they would love for me to visit them.
Sometimes, while pacing back and forth on my tightrope
I picture what it would be like to walk away—to follow an unbeaten path
away from my crags. What wonders would I see? Princess and villains?
Secretly I am terrified; will I miss the world if I keep walking
the tightrope? Or will I be crushed under the hooves of unicorns as they run
blissfully by? I am so frightened to stay
and so frightened to go.
And every time, I always decide
that the safest thing to do is to wait
for the dragons
to come to me.