So there’s a line to walk.

I teetered on that edge for months, years. I dangled a foot over the edge, tempting my friends to stop me, daring myself to say no.

I couldn’t go there again. I slipped and I would sit at the very edge but I wouldn’t hurt them, not the same way, not when my heart and my gut exchanged places the last time they saw what I had done…

But weightlessness is addictive.
The luxury of not caring whether I’m falling or flying.

Not caring whether I stepped off the solid ground or broke it into pieces.

Not caring that everyone else is stranded on the crumbling earth, my dust choking them.

Not caring that they will be watching me plummet.

It’s so much easier to just float. Fall or fly, I can’t tell. Saying I’m aiming for the sun doesn’t fool them, doesn’t hide the fact I did this all before.

Still I tell myself
This time is different, I swear, it’s not like last.
This is real.
I am real.
In the gloom I can say it aloud and it feels as weighted as I am buoyant.
It feels real.

Lies.