2017 for 2017, 89-121: Looking Down From A Window 

​They’ve talked about this before:
a heavy, sinking feeling,
canonball to the chest
and cold, cold water,
skin pierced and parched at the same time
clothing limbs you no longer recognize.

This is no different.
It’s all you are
and all you hate,
all that’s left
of you in the next breath.

Shallow, sharp gasps,
stifled cries,
Broken lullabies,
songs to put yourself to sleep.

Throw it to the wind, they say,
all your worries to the wind.

And you will.

Your legs shake in the thrill
Of the rushing air ready to cradle you,
weightless against the wind,
subject to the laws that move
and make the world, one step
towards gravity, the rest follows.

The world spins, will continue to spin.

Everything looks so small
from where you are, tinier,
shrinking further, and
you are as small, shrinking smaller.

There is no bottom for this now.
It only comes after the jump.
After you fall, only then
will you be able to truly fly.

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