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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Here is my note. Well one of them at least.

Submitted: March 30, 2016

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Submitted: March 30, 2016



If I jumped out of a window, it wouldn't be to hit the pavement, but to fly. I dream of this perfect heaven, a glass box suspended in sky. I don't pray for death, I long for sleep. Sleep won't end life, but it ends the day. It's a temporary escape, the only gift from life, 8 hours of night. 8 hours of nothing.

It pains me each day, leaving my bed. It pains me each day to even leave my room. The beauty of the most beautiful song wasn't heard in the climax of it, or in its general tune, but is heard in the softness of its end.

I wouldn't be reaching for death if I dived off a bridge. I would be diving into the waters, the cold beautiful waters. I wouldn't be free. It's not about freedom, because we are never truly free. It's about the idea of giving up my mind to the waters. It's like being a child again and running into my mother's arms. It's sinking my head deep into her chest where all that exists is her beating heart and steady breaths.

I miss that. I want childhood back. Everything was magic, and had meaning. The world only existed as far as I could see it. Nothing scared me, for there were no reasons to fear it. The good parts were dreams. I spend these moments before adulthood mourning that sweet second. I'll spend my whole life looking for it.

Life has no real monsters, no real demons. It only has dull pains of unfortunate realizations. I don't jump to die, I jump to fly.

With my single bit of childlike wonder, somehow the impossible chance of flying is 1000% better than the certain probable chance of death.

But still, I think life fluffed death for me, turning that spiked pillow into soft silk.

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