I tripped.


tripped

I love watching the sunset.

It’s a good metaphor for life, or something, right?

I like feeling the breeze whip my hair round my face.

I mean it’s refreshing, right?

Or its the height thing, you know? Being taller than the people on the street below; being closer to the sky.

You get it now, right?

 

I like how my toes look sticking over the edge – it’s kind of sweet, yes?

And when you close your eyes and lean – oh that lean – it’s a beautiful thing, you know?

And when you feel that breath of freezing air so deep in your lungs that it stings…
nothing feels better, right?

And when there’s nothing but grey below you, spreading out in front of you, it just looks so… desperately in need of some colour to liven it up.

You can see it now, right?

 

So you look.

 

And you look and you look and you look.

 

And you make up your mind.

And you decide not to decide.

So you let the wind choose for you: forwards or backwards.

And suddenly flying seems possible.

Probable.

Promising.

 

But I didn’t fly.

I tripped.

I promise.

 

I tripped.


 

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