When I was little, before this whole mess began, I used to stand on a high bridge or on a balcony of a tall building and look down at the insect-sized people. I wondered what it'd be like to fall all that way- whether it'd be like flying and if my hair'd whip around.
Seven years later, I saw the empty space as a means to destroy. I imagined my body dashed into pieces on the pavement. I'd put my hands on the rail, knowing it all could be over in a few seconds, and asking myself if I could ever work up the courage to do it. But every time I turned away, only to feel instant remorse.
Yesterday, I watched the cars whizzing across the freeway. They were small, yes, but not as small as they were before. I touched the rail, and I knew I still had the power to swing myself over the edge, but I again declined. My life is a choice, and I have a strong gut feeling as to what's the right decision concerning it right now.
I continued on my walk.