a/u: hey. here's another short. if you guys have a dA and want to follow, my name on there is Madam-Woe. hope you like his one- had some trouble as to where to end it. reviews are love.
I have never been as cold as I was that night.
It wasn't even winter yet- I had no reason to be this numb. Ice trickled into my veins. Couldn't move. The words had evaporated from where they had lain stagnant my tongue.
His coat blew around his legs. From above me, he looked so small, like I could take him in my palm, slip him into my pocket and bring him home. The wind settled.
It was the calm before the storm, and he was the first roll of thunder; would that make me the lightening?
With the wind, he held his arm up in front of him, long fingers flexing in the bitter air. I reached out to him without thinking. (but what the hell was he thinking?)
There are a thousand possible things that I could have (should have) said to him.
I didn't say one of them.
When he jumped, it didn't look like falling at first. It was like little bits of his soul became unattached to him and floated up to greet the sun, and those were what made him take a step off the building. His body was elongated. Right then, with the hospital walls dropping behind him, he reminded me of off key violin solos in the dead of the night: unexpected but somehow predicted.
Black curls thrown backwards- eyes wide. I wonder if he could feel the rush of wind in the back of his throat.
It was falling, but it looked a lot like flying.
And then it was over. The street took him in like an old friend; a welcoming splash of crimson painting his face.
It lasted less than a minute but those seconds filled in an entire lifeline for me. 'Ending' is such a misinterpreted word, in the way that it makes people think that it's over- and it will never be over for me.
I will always see him fall. (and I will always tell myself that he's flying.)