Bridges and Ledges

There are flashes, momentary slices of time when I can understand, utterly, the urge to jump into death. If I were somehow standing atop the steely curve of a bridge or on the ledge of a tall building when that quick burn in my core fires up all of my doubts and pains, I’d easily step into the air and drop, float and fall into oblivion. Luckily, those brief moments usually occur, like last night, when I’m curled up in a fetal position in my safe bed. All panda eyed, my red pillow scarred with the day's black lashes wept into them. They are dark, intense, hours when I have only my weak ego to keep me company. She isn’t very helpful.

I’m sat here writing about my own darkness while I watch a small privileged girl play with paper, crayons and Lego bricks. She makes me smile. Surrounded by every expensive toy, gadget and games console available, she consistently chooses instead to draw and build colourful things, spreading her imagination all over the playroom, and, this small girl, lost in wonder, draws my mind away from bridges and ledges. She's very helpful.

-Written Saturday 21st April, 2012