I’m hanging on the edge, everyone I’ve ever known is beside me. Supporting me, cheering for me. Ready for me to make my decision. My enemies, my friends, my lovers, my family, myself. With a shaking hand, I rub it against my slippery forehead. With the sounds of their cheers fading out, all I hear is my own breathing. Deep, slow.
I feel as though I want to cry, just because I don’t know what to do. I must jump or be thrown off. Their faces sizzle into an oil painting behind me. Except I feel that shaking hand of mine steady by another hand, stronger and softer, taking hold.
He whispers, “I am here.”
And we jumped together.
I woke, feeling the color of the world in my mind drained. Then, I felt the loneliness.
He never really would’ve jumped with me.
He would’ve shoved me.