She was always cautious. Momma had always told her not to stray too far towards the edge, that the gold lining of the clouds would tempt her up and over what was well and good. And if she didn't look carefully enough, she'd fall instead of fly.
She was always waiting. Sometimes, she was lured near the edge by a cloud or two, but was able to catch herself before lunging off the amethyst cliff into the dark nothing in which she could either sink or soar.
She was always lonely. So many figures danced just along the edge, just out of her grasp, their blurred outlines shining brighten than molten sunshine, calling to her. pulling at her humble clothing.
She was never desperate. Although even the slightest murmur of her name was enough to get her up and running towards the edge, she always awoke from the nightmare...and would always regret not taking the risk.
Until she did.
She was always shy. But when the wisp of hope outlined by the shadows of the moon itself reached out its twilight fingertips to her and beckoned, promising a life beyond the farthest jump she could possibly muster, she heard. And she believed.
She was always meek. Not believing in herself but in the hands that held hers, she ventured to the edge, peering over into the lilac abyss and the stars above. And she jumped.
She was always forgettable. No sooner had her toes left the glossy surface of the biggest cliff she had ever faced in her life, her memory was wiped from the minds of those who knew her, to be replaced by something brighter, shinier, newer.
And then she was gone. But no one would miss her.
I've been wishing for the last week that I was a machine. Not able to feel. And today...well, today just proved how wrong I am in wanting to feel something. Because like it or not, we're all dispensable. Especially me. Maybe it's because I give so much of myself that you can see right through me when they're not around me. Maybe I'm just that shallow, that desperate. Who knows. I just wish I was made of cogs instead of a beating heart.