The White Cliffs – 162 words

 My feet nestle against the edge and there is nothing but the sound of the sea, the waves lashing out, chipping away the chalk walls, and my heart beating hard in my chest. I breathe deep, taking in the cool night air. My tongue laps up the salt from my lips and I feel alive.  

In the darkness, I know I’m alone and that no one would know if I took that extra step forward. I look around me and I see the bench, caught in the gleam of the lighthouse and suddenly I remember everything; an uncontrolled football lost over the edge, a handstand on the grassy hills above, a kiss on the bench before youth and wonder melted away, and I think of all the moments that will never come.

 I decide. As I turn, I make that all-important step towards the stone path to the town and take comfort in knowing that the edge will still be there tomorrow.

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