Sometimes I feel like my life is a circus, and I'm the one on the tightrope.
My ground below isn't sure, or steady.
And while the crazy music and laughing clowns swirl around me in a dizzying craze, I falter on the rope.
If only this were just a rehearsal, a practice run. If only the blaring lights weren't shedding their blinding and unforgivable shine on me.
But it's showtime, and I'm not ready. I don't really know what I'm doing.
When will the man on the flying trapeze swoop in and save me from certain death?
....he never will. He shouldn't anyway. I have to learn to master this art on my own.
The art of living, loving, overcoming.
Maybe I just need a safety net, in case I fall.
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