I’m unsteady at the edge and the only thing I can visualise are the flowers. Weeds actually. Grown in any crevice they can. Around them nothing but jagged rocks. They are unlikely friends, but co-exist to create a balance in their tiny little world.
The salt is abrasive on my tongue, as I take one step closer to the edge. I’m not frightened of the height. All is quiet. Whispering waves wash the ocean’s sins away.
Another step, and stones break away from the edge.
I back away, and bend down to pick a few flowers. They are survivors, just like you. Just like me. It seems wrong to take them away, so I take a picture instead.
When I get back to civilisation I will find the perfect frame.