My feet balance on the edge of the building, eyes tracing twelve stories of windows all the way down to the cold, hard concrete. The only thing separating me from the inevitable death of falling on this concrete is a two inch thick railing that surrounds my building. Two inches keeping me from the simplicity of not existing.
Yet these two inches feel a lifetime away, and my feet feel heavy even though all I really need to do is lean a little too far to the right. I swore I was ready and knew I was done; yet here I am, still balancing, still clinging to a life that is almost too pathetic to be a life at all.
What is there to hold on to? Even the physical walls offer no handle, a mirror that reflects what I would be leaving behind. I have nothing and it has been too long since I have felt something. I am nothing.
As I hover one foot over the edge, I remember once when I was only a child who played childish games, and I would balance on one foot, never imagining I would one day be doing so on the edge of death.
This longing for childhood hits me hard, bringing on a misery so strong I clutch my chest in pain, stumbling on my lifeline and almost going over. And upon this stumble I realize I feel no relief at all for my life still being intact, for still balancing.
And though my feet still stand strong, I know I stopped trying to balance long ago. And though I continue to survive, I have not truly been alive for far too long.
So I lean to the right, and feel nothing at all.
My stomach jumps to my throat and my lungs will not breathe and I feel nothing at all.
My body hits the ground and I'm sure it made a sound, I made a sound, but I do not hear it for I am nothing at all.
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