Jump

I don't want you to get caught up in my mistakes. See, I feel like I'm about to jump off a cliff, and there's fog ahead of me, and I know how risky this is, 'cause I don't know what I'm jumping towards exactly. But I don't wanna stay waiting on that edge, because I'm bored of it! I'm so ready to just jump... and I'm waiting for myself to go... but I stay rooted in where I am nonetheless. And now this metaphor has gone beyond my control 'cause I have too many things on my mind to keep track of who is the cliff and who is the fog and why i can't jump.

I have to admit that before there is safety there is always the risk, but why am I so reluctant to take it now? Every time we speak I know this is what I want to be jumping to, but I can only hope that it's right. I've waited for the sake of morality, I've taken it slowly for the sake of evaluation. Now I have to see that the right thing for me would be to start learning how to drown again, rather than let the lake dry up.