She stood precariously, one foot on the rocks and one in the sea, bare feet with tips of red, gripping earth and sand. She could only wait for so long, could only stand between worlds for as long as a flower took to fully bloom, or maybe as long as it takes for a child to learn the nature of laughter.
The point of falling is to be caught before hitting the ground, to be released before being trapped, and to be chased in order to fall again. That is the supposed order of things.
She turned around, took out a pair of scissors, and with calm and in complete silence, cut every single string. The broken ends trailed after in delightful disarray, and she smiled in that moment.