Today in the lift, as gravity grabbed at my body, I felt this insane urge to put my fingers through the lift bars, just to see , you know? You know how you’re standing on the edge of a terrace or a boat or the world and the desire to jump racks your nerves forcing you to take one tiny step closer?
Would you fly, or would you fall?
But always, I imagine the aftermath, blood staining the walls and broken legs, broken hands, a broken heart. It’s not a prediction, merely me making a mockery of my mind. The temptation to give it all up never comes close to the fact that I’m still standing on the edge with nothing to give up. I’m not talking about suicide, not even close. I’ve just always wanted to know, what happens next?
Is it ever worth it?
Or maybe I could just..run. On air. Like those cartoon characters who run off a cliff and run and run because they don’t know that they’ve run off a cliff. But then they look Down and Down eats them up. I’d never look Down. No more straightening and painting and building a brighter future cause I'd be a star. Hell yeah! A fucking star who wouldn't need to splash on glitter!
Dazzle up there on my own with a million stars who shine with more sparkle than I do.
I could never do it.
My shoes are so wrong.
2 comments:
you were never meant to be something as purely ornamental as stars.
and they never thought to ask whether they were good enough.
shine in your eyes, pretty, and you wont have to be ashamed of smiling.
Ornamental. All they're worth.
You make so much sense.
Thank you =)
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