The Gravity of Looking Up

To cross the void, where the wind hums danger and the shadows stretch their claws, they say: Don’t look down. Fix your eyes forward, they urge—on the trembling ropes, on the breath that burns steady, on the sky, endless and uncaring, as if the weight of you could vanish into air. But my heart fights it, tethered to the jagged unknown, its rhythm echoes the pull, dragging my gaze down, to where the abyss hungers. It doesn’t make sense: to rise, I must forget the fall. To survive, I have to trust what feels like nothing. And when the void whispers my name, it’s not fear that shakes me— it’s the call of belonging to the in-between. So I look up, not to run, but to claim the stillness that keeps me moving.