ambrose croft ; district eight cb

You're reckless, to say the least. Hasty, at best. You leap head first and only realize halfway down that the water might not always be as deep as it is, and if you're honest about it, there's a thrill from it. Maybe there's a reason. Maybe it's genetic. After all, you've come home to find your eccentric mother in the middle of demolishing an interior wall because the light in her studio wasn't quite right and that's only the beginning of a long list of examples. Or, maybe it's because you're an adrenaline junkie like your dad, ex-peacekeeper who probably would've been content to spend his entire life never knowing people any deeper than a first name or a picture in a file. That makes it sound like he might not love you guys. He does. You know that.

Maybe it's not genetic. Maybe you just love the thrill of feeling your feet come off the ground. Because there, in between the moment you jump and the moment you land, there's no difference between falling and flying. Everything before and everything after is background noise. Tattoos on your arms and scars on your knees and metal pierced through your ear and an entire pot of coffee poured down your throat and you wait for the opportunity to leap again and hope, with reckless abandon, that the water is still deep enough to crash into.