I remember there being a soft breeze above the freeway. I watched the eight lanes of traffic below me like the cars were shooting stars that I could make a wish on. I remember leaning over the edge, cars honking their horns at me as if that would push me back to the safety behind the rail. I stayed there till dusk. Until the sun went down and the cars had their headlights on. People would pass me on the bridge and give me a sad smile but no one ever said anything. I spread my arms out and closed my eyes. But I couldn’t do it. Maybe I was scared that it wouldn’t work and that I would be left paralyzed. Or maybe deep down I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to kill the pain not myself. I wanted to live, not merely just exist. It was like a tug of war between living and dying. My mind telling me that this was the only way to find peace while simultaneously telling me that I needed to keep going. So I walked off of that bridge and returned home to my parents like nothing had happened. Like I didn’t sit for hours on that bridge and contemplate wether dying sounded more appealing than living. When i went to bed that night I thought to myself, “maybe I should’ve tried to fly”.
