For the first time, I don't know.

For the first time in my life,

I don't know.

For the first time in my life

I don't have something to lean on,

something to rely on,

i don't have someone that will show me the right path.

For the first time in my life I jump in the dark,

without the security of a mattress underneath me,

which I always had,

and for the first time in my life I accept not knowing if somebody,

when I fall,

will be there to catch me.

For the first time in my life, if I look ahead of me

I don't see anything,

I don't see a net that dampens my fall, I don't see words of comprehension and good intentions, but I see nothing, that dear friend that could transform into everything o that could stay the reason why, looking back

I'll always wish that I had not jumped.1