And as I dropped her by the side of her house in drizzling rain, I understood the true fragility of life.
As if the only catalyst for living, was that to be held together with a bond so tight, the soul could never breathe.
The self, so safely nestled behind a wall of personality, necessary to allow the harsh climate of experience transcend just enough to develop the soul, and keep the body safe from harm.
It was all crashing down around her.
The mind, the heart, the body, the soul too.
For the time had come to be set free.
Within and without, it was all about to come loose.
The grip of fear, the grip for life, the grip for love, for pain.
The grip of fear, the grip for life, the grip for love, for pain.
The beginning of life was near, and so was the end.
Poetry: Kara Wilkinson
Images: © Phish Photography Kara Wilkinson
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