In 20 years

"You'll be more disappointed in what you didn't do than what you did." 

I'm 20 years old and I'm gripping onto the edge. 
I'm slipping and I'm reaching out for the rubble that's cutting into my fingertips
They told me it wasn't the end, to stay resilient. 
But here I am, still gripping.
I'm terrified of what will happen if I fall,
What I'll find at the bottom of this seemingly endless pit.
Will it be my rabbit hole to a wonderland or will I find myself at the bottom of a pit. 

I've spent years wanting to explore. 
I didn't know that's what I wanted when I came here
I didn't know until now.
I'm waking up from this dream state where I've met characters that smile and draw.
I've seen art come to life.
I've seen nature breath with me.
I've seen the lights dance and the moon smile. 
I'm awakening from this dream and I'm finding myself gripping onto the edge. 

This path of reality has an unsteady terrain.
The sky is harsh, the sun is melting me, and my fingers are still slipping.
I want to escape back into my sleep but I'm no longer tired. 
That voice in the back of my mind is becoming louder and louder
It won't allow me to sleep.
It's screaming at me, 
To pull myself up
To let the blood flow from my fingertips. 
To appreciate the rubble. 
It came from a boulder that stands strong and resilient.
Against the sun. Against the sky. Against the wind.
The voice is whispering to me now.
I'm pulling myself up and feel the rubble interjecting my fingertips. 
Seeping under my skin, becoming a permanent part of my body.
My arms are trembling but I'm pulling myself up.