Every morning at sunrise I come here, to this spot, and sit. Every morning I migrate, inching along at the speed icebergs melt, closer to the edge. Finally there I perch, my legs dangling over the yawning chasm before me. Cars, the street, the sidewalk, they all stretch beneath me, so far away. They could be closer.
I once heard a phrase, “falling feels like flying until you hit the ground.” I’m not afraid of heights. I’m not afraid of hitting the ground. It’s what comes between that scares me. Falling is being so far from safety, so far from the ground. You’re helpless, a mere weight at the mercy of gravity. The Earth is safety to me. The Earth is security, it is strong, something to hold onto. Falling, you’re so far, far away from the Earth, from safety. You reach out, desperately trying to hold onto something. But there is nothing. No one.
Nothing to support you, nothing at all to hold onto, so irrevocably vulnerable. You feel defenseless, nothing to reach out to. Falling, my greatest wish would be to hit the ground. Anything but feel so defenseless, anything but feel so naked. It would be a return to safety, the impact. Even if it killed me I’d be returning to security.
Maybe it just goes to show that once you stray too far, coming back to safety can kill you.
I hear the roof door open and turn to see you standing in the doorway. You wave, and I return the motion with an absent minded smile. You cup your hands around you mouth, calling out, “Breakfast, love.”
You look both ways, like you are crossing the street, and close the gap that feels like a lifetime between us. I don’t move from my spot, maybe I should. I can feel you when you near me, an aura of safety I can’t deny. I look back over the edge, wanting to jump. I don’t know why I felt it. I’m not depressed, no. I’m happy, happy as anyone could ever be. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s some morbid masochistic tendencies buried deep inside of me. No matter, I think it every morning. No matter how hard I try to push the thought from my mind, I find myself leaning forward, I can almost feel myself push off. Such a simple movement. "Do it," my mind would say.
You close the gap between us; I’m still sitting upon the wall, dangling my legs over the edge. It isn’t until I smell the lingering scent of soap, feel your skin brush my arm that suddenly I realize how much I crave you. I swing my legs over the wall, still sitting, and wrap my arms around your neck, kissing you. I taste toothpaste and something else, is it surprise?
“Well...” you start, “That was a nice treat.”
I smile, and kiss you again. I think I'll sit inside tomorrow morning.
With you.
