The wind blows in my hair. I’m standing at the edge again. The clamor of the city streets below can be heard even from up here, but it’s still peaceful. The wind is cool against my cheeks, a gentle caress as I take a slow, deep breath. I never remember making the slow climb up the apartment complex’s stairs to the roof. I can’t think back to shoving open the door that insists on putting up a fight every time anyone tries to get past it. I just blink, and the next think I know I’m looking down at a bustling street 50 feet below. Sometimes I wonder what would hapen if I decided to let myself sway with the wind. A gust could come and I might stumble back, getting a few scrapes on my hands from the rough concrete before I stand up and dust myself off. Or the gale could push me forward, the force that final shove that tips me over the lip and into the mess of traffic and blaring car horns. In the end I know I won’t let myself hand my fate to the air. I can’t. I have a life, friends, family, a job, and countless responsibilities. If I let myself slip, I’d be letting them and everyone who ever believed in me down. So I take a step back, take another deep breath, and start back down the steps to my apartment. Not today. Not yet.