Horizons

I thought I was obsessed with sunrises.

The space where the day meets the night.

The canvas of opportunity.

Hope that awaits.

But I think I was mistaken.

I'm not obsessed with sunrises, in-between spaces, or pretty pastel skies.

I crave horizons.

Horizon is defined as "the limit of a person's mental perception, experience, or interest" or "the line at which the earth's surface and the sky appear to meet."

"Limits," you say?

"Appearances," you add?

So horizons are our own beliefs that substantiate false appearances?

But, we know better now, don't we?

Horizons are a beckoning call, a siren song, of something to come.

A thin, gossamer space, between the now and next.

There's no looking back on a horizon line.

Our eyes hold steady on the forward.

Captivated not captive.

And, as you breathe deep into this question, allow the horizon to answer you: What's over the earth's curve? On the other side of the line that hems us in and holds us back? Will you allow yourself to find out?

 

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