Behind The Wall

I lean against a rockface, hearing its gentle heart beat and whispers in my ear. Cold though my cheek is against the stone face, I feel a warmth. In this temperate state, I feel a sudden rush of security, but a secret looms, ready for exposure. It becomes true that on the other side of this rock face is not a heart or whisper, but beating ocean waves and howling wind. The wall is thin as paper having sustained millennia of attrition. It is but a gush of water or wail of breeze away from fading to nothing and leaving me to drown, exposed to a bitter winter. What, then, is there to make of the warmth I feel; is it but stupidity? Should I run from the wall while I can, or accept my fate?