My bare feet feel the wind whistling over them.

My toes curl over the edge of the building.

It's a cool spring day. The snow has all melted. The cycle of life has switched from all dying in the winter to life and growth in the later months of the first half of the year.

What year is it? What day is it?

These questions are trivial to me. Every day feels the same, every breath as uniform as my day to day life.

An airplane flies over me. The vibrations of the air molecules caused by the plane send information to my ears, telling me that I am very, very high up. For some reason, it is very windy today. It's uncharacteristically windy today. My hair rustles as the breeze has its way with it.

I look up. The sun is beautiful today. It is warm, and the rays of the sun send small jolts of warmth through my body. They do not go far. The insides of my body feel stone cold. My heart is at a slow, constant rate. My lungs expand and contract with every breath I take. My chest feels cold. It must be my lack of a soul. I think, and start to ponder what it must look like inside of my torso, where people believe the soul is held. A black, twisted mess, it can't be pretty.

I sit down on the edge of the building, kicking my legs like dying pistons of a car, slowly, methodically. I fall back onto the roof of the sky scraper, my head hits the gravel and I sigh.

I feel no emotion. My brain does not process the sights around me like it should. Instead of beautiful clouds, I see wisps of grey matter. The blue sky looks gray and dead. The supposedly beautiful day is as drab as a poorly done watercolor painting.

I've been on this earth for twenty six years. I've graduated college with exceptional grades. But grades are not everything, as I've known all my life.

I can hear music, but none is playing. It's Pink Floyd, Great Gig in the Sky. This song has meant so much in the past few years to me.

My eyes lazily sweep the horizon. The view could be considered amazing by some. Being a few hundred stories up, looking down on the streets of New York City has that effect.

I haven't come here to observe the skyline. I haven't come hear to ponder the questions that plague so many people.

For a moment, I forget why I am here, but it comes back to me quickly.

I stand and rub the tiny pieces of rock from my hair, and start pacing the ledge of the building.

So many memories flood my mind. A childhood filled with abuse. Mental, sexual, physical assailments filled the first half of my life. The rest is filled with social anxiety, emotional numbness, forced solitude, and wondering what I truly have been put on this earth to do. I pace a few steps away from the ledge as I remember these thoughts.

I turn and run as fast as I can, trying to outrun my memories and my childhood. The ledge is under my feet. I leap. The air rushes into my ear, instantly ripping holes in my ear drums. Blood streams from them as I descend. Seconds ago, the echoes of screams ripped from her lips filled my every time she would fight with him. Now I hear nothing.

I close my eyes, as the wind rips me back and forth. My shirt ripples as I am thrown around like a rag doll. My body turns, I open my eyes. I am facing the building. The building's side is purely reflective windows.

I see myself falling in the windows, but not those who must be seeing me fall with horror. I've caused enough people pain in my life, I realize, I could have picked a less selfish way. It's too late to change it now. The die is cast.

I draw closer to the building, slowly. It has only been a second or two since I have jumped. My reflection grows bigger as I draw nearer. I nearly collide with the building, but I do not. I do not think about this, I merely know it.

Thoughts flood my mind again. Darker days when I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. Darker days when I decorated my entire body with scars, starting with my wrists. I look down at my wrists, the zig-zagging pattern easily seen even with a lack of freedom of motion. They start from the end of my hand, and make a trail to each of my shoulders. I tried to make it look appealing, the crimson blood was so beautiful in the water of my warm bathtub. The police came when my downstairs neighbor called, claiming her walls were bleeding. They had to resurrect me, just like Christ was.

They kept me locked in the padded room for months. My diet consisted of different shapes, sizes and colors of pills. I left the hospital looking more dead than the patients that left there in a bag.

Prescribed with false hopes, I became addicted to the anti-depressants, anxiety medications, and various tranquilizers. With them, I was God himself. Without them I was insane. I ended up smoking meth to substitute for the high I got from my prescriptions.

The meth led to lack of sleep, lack of eating. Anyone that supported me in anyway fell out on me. I was dead to everyone, and it was a matter of time before I completely snapped. The meth tweaked my mind, and a year in rehab set me sober. I never turned back to meth, but without it or any prescriptions, I was a shell. I walked the streets of New York City, looking, but not sure what for. Maybe a home. Maybe a heart. Maybe open arms to hug me, show a slight resemblance to affection, or even love.

I snap back to reality. I'm still falling. It's been five seconds since I've jumped. My mind races, but the ground that is rushing to meet me calms me. I am sedated again.

I found what I was looking for. You welcomed me with a warm embrace, loving, caring, even though you did not know who I was. You found me asleep on your doorstep, and brought me in like your own brother. You loved me, you clothed me, fed me, and took care of me. Every second spent with you was like an eternity in heaven. For one time in my life, I felt loved.

You were taken from me mere months into me knowing you.

You went out to visit a few friends. You made an amazing dinner for us, and it was so romantic, so beautiful, that I shed tears. For the first time in a decade, I shed tears. You evoked so much emotion in me. When I woke up without you next to me, and a note on your pillow, I was anxious. I read the note and jumped up from the bed, shocked.

You didn't go to visit your friends. You went to find solace in another life.

All life is fleeting. Mine is no exception. It burns me inside to leave you like this, but one day we will be united.

I was diagnosed with a terminal illness. I have a month to live. The doctors say it's aggressive, and by the end of my final days, I will be reduced to a skeleton with flesh pulled taut like a drum.

I never want you to see me like this. Goodbye.

Enclosed was a picture of you. You were always so beautiful.

I snap back to reality again. A few more seconds have passed. I look into the mirrored windows, the sun reflects off of it, casting a glare in my eyes. I try to shield them from the blinding light, but it fails.

The light does not burn like it should, and it does not continue to blind me. I look into the windows, and see not me, but you, falling in my place. You're crying as you fall, and the ground rushes up to meet us as we collide with the pavement.

Everything is black.