The wind blows my hair.

I’m standing on the edge again.

I wonder how many times I’ve been up here already, how many times I’ve given in and decided to try.

The edge, it’s comforting. The cold air breathes against my shoulder, my shorts clinging onto my skin. Everytime I look over the edge, I try to wonder how life would be on the other side of the bridge. Would I be happier? Would I be comfortable? Would I finally erase these conflicting feelings of mine?

Feelings. They’re hard to grasp, some days they are normal, some days they are not. I can never explain these feelings of mine, not because I don’t have the words, but because I do not understand them. It’s like a scribbled painting in my mind, sometimes it’s light and comforting, sometimes it’s rough and eerie.

My life wasn’t so good, everyone couldn’t understand. “Why does she act this way?” They say, but who can blame them? My feelings are mine and mine alone, no one can understand them no matter how hard they try.

It’s like I’m always stepped in a box, I move from one side only to be faced with the same sized side. I never change, no matter how hard I try. I always end up back here.

How many times have people tried to save me?

How math times have they given up?

It’s a comforting but odd feeling when I come to the realization that no one can save me.

On the first hand, no one has to waste their time on me. On the other hand? I can’t save myself if I don’t know how.

It’s not like I don’t want to save myself, I just can’t. No matter how hard I try, I’m trapped. I cry and I cry but eventually I just sit there, playing with the darkness. But then sometimes a glimmer of hope shines through a tiny crack of the box.

It reminds me that there is still hope, still a chance.

The truth is, I don’t want to die. Dying doesn’t seem like a pleasant thing to me, sure it might be comforting to finally have to stop thinking about these feelings, and I definitely would love to just relax for one second.

But everything would have gone to waste, the minutes people have spent trying to change my mind, the hours I’ve spend convincing myself that everything is still going to be okay. Do I really want to let all of that go? Do I really want to give up?

And just then, I slip.

My life flashes through my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut, I don’t want this. I want to keep trying, I want to keep living. Because even though it seemed hard, I still tried. I still got up in. The mornings, I still made an effort to talk to people, I still woke up and gave the world another chance.

I force my eyes open and grab the fence with one hand. I look down and see the water enchanting me, the rocks beckoning me to come closer. But I won’t listen to the sirens call, not today.

Because I still want to try, I still want to live even just for a little while.

And so I use both hands to pull myself up, gasping for air as cars drive past me. A big grin appears on my lips and I break out in laughter before standing up, I wasn’t going to die today, maybe someday.

But not today.

(Sorry this is so short I haven’t written a story in a while I’ve lost my touch.)