as I was walking home across the Symonds street bridge, I started to think again about what it'd be like to jump over the the railings, to fall to my death.
I, or anyone.
But I prefer writing in first person.
Would I sit atop them for a moment? Let my feet dangle? Would I look down at the cars speeding past on the motorway?
Would I close my eyes and let myself slip, like a scarf that you tossed on the back of your chair slips, suddenly and without warning, seemingly triggered by nothing?
Would I look back hurriedly one last time, hoping for a glimpse of something significant, something beautiful to be my last sight?
Or would I close my eyes and leap off the edge, and, for a moment, feel like I'm flying?
How cliche.
_
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