I’m afraid of heights. But I don’t fear falling. Falling is a freedom that’s never failed to run away from me when I’ve given chase. Falling is the wind in my hair. Clothes ruffling. The pure feeling of exhilaration. Of knowing that there’s still fear under that energy. What am I going to fall into? Or on? Is my body going to hit the pavement? Blood blossoming around me as if an artist spilled a can of paint. And I just happened to fall into it. Except my body will relax. Whatever feelings I had. Whatever thoughts I had leaked out through that pool of blood around me. And in my last moments of comprehension I can tell that it’s darker than I expected it to be.  But it’s still the same. It hasn’t changed any. I always fall into the pavement. It opens its arms as if it were a long lost friend. Calling my name. Making promises of peace and clarity. Promises that no one will be depending on me if I just come into its arms. That I can sleep and not have my dreams plagued with locusts of worry. And grief. And over thinking. So when I found myself falling again. I leaned back into the feeling. I leaned back into the wind relishing the feel of its fingers in my hair. Relishing the feeling of this peace. How could you have peace while you’re falling. I’m not sure anymore. My fear of falling the healthy fear of falling and colliding into something. Has been stripped away. Stripped away like an apple being peeled. Or cheese being grated into finer layers. I don’t fear it. I welcome it. With open arms. And an open. Still intact unscrambled mind. So when I fall through the sky. I only regret. That it’ll be over soon. This addicting feeling of freedom this adrenaline rush. Will be spread out in a bloodied halo around my head. And that’s the only thing I regret. That it can’t last forever. But alas all good things must come to an end. So I close my eyes. Inhale deeply knowing the impact is going to come soon. And hang onto the remnants of this wonderful. Blissful feeling. And then it happens. I hit something. And instead of it being concrete. I find that it’s another body. Another faller I guess. So when I open my eyes. Expect to see blood around me. But instead I see blue eyes. Not just blue eyes. Blue eyes that aren’t glazed over. Blue eyes that weren’t gifted the kiss of death. Eyes that are alive. And are also as confused as I am. Instead of falling into the opened arms of the soft gray pavement I’ve fallen into a person. A person who just tells me. That it isn’t time. To die. To come back. And fall again. That I have something to do and people that need me. And I need to wait for that feeling. I need to wait and stop craving it because I’ve become too addicted to the euphoria of it. It’s time to take my head out of the wind and sky. And come back to earth and live. I actually sigh at this. I sigh in annoyance. And roll my eyes. Because how dare they. That’s why. So hand in hand with this blue eyed stranger I go. Down a road carved and sculpted from the wind. From the stars. And from the ageless eternity of night. To whoever apparently needs me. While I shake trying to stave away the callings and whispers of the wind. Begging me to come and join it. To come back and dance the waltz that never ends. But with my hand in theirs. I’m anchored here and I can’t. So for now I block it out and keep walking. To the light that needs me. Because (apparently). I’ve chosen to live even before this day. And even before this exceptionally weird fall. I chose to live.

So I will.