The Final Leap

March 6, 2011
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My feet hit the cold, wet tile.
Step by step getting closer,
the warm summer air drifting away,
my mouth still tasting the sweet soda.

My mind races, anticipating
and timing every action, so
everything happens smoothly,
like the waves rolling ashore.

What will I do when it is over?
My time here will be done. I will go wherever
I am taken like a leaf falling from its tree,
blowing away to unknown places.

I do not worry about that now; the time has come.
the water hits:
cold and salty. Then the rush of relaxation, happiness,

Grasping the
towel, drip drop slowly coming back to warmth.
Reach for more of the sweet drink, although I yearn to return,
I have to go.

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