He knows. He knows he can talk about anything; Few things trigger a bashful response. He knows what he feels: He's experienced enough to tell things apart. He knows what to do with the means at his disposal; All he needs is a chance. He recoils; The sting hurts enough to shy away from risk. Yet he fears regret even more. There are things he knows. He learnt each as he stumbles and topples down the ridge. Gripping and grabbing at vines and roots he knows will snap. He knows he doesn't know how to stop the descent. He knows he'll reach for grip once again. He tumbles so, he grips, as he only hears one voice, over even his own thoughts. Hers. And that's all he knows.
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