The room is dark, and settled into the cool night is an air of uncertainty. The lights are all turned off, and you see me laying here. You think I'm asleep, but I'm not. I'm looking out the window. There's a boy standing out on a thin platform outside my opened window. He's watching me. It's so dark and gloomy outside I cannot see his face. Does he know I'm watching him, or is he just as easily fooled as you are?

He begins walking back and forth along the dangerous ledge. I begin screaming and motioning for him to step inside where he's safe. My room is as messy as a four year olds toy room; cluttered with dirty clothes, CD cases, books, and journals full of my deepest secrets. I know I'd let him see the mess, because I couldn't watch him throw himself out of this world.

I continue to scream, feeling helpless from inside, and the pressure begins to add up. What started as a dull roar in my head feels as if an atomic bomb is about to be dropped at any moment. The boy's pace increases until he's sprinting across the slab of cement, millimeters from the edge. I'm frantic to get him back inside, frantic for his place in this life.

Suddenly it all becomes too much; I explode, shatter into a million pieces. I land among all my secrets, all my dreams, broken like a shattered mirror. The boy stops in place at the sound of my destruction. He steps easily inside, as if he was in control the whole time, just waiting for something like this to happen.

He steps in amidst the pieces of me and begins searching through them. Picking up handfuls and shifting through them, then setting them back and continuing on. Finally he singles one piece out and picks it up, which one I cannot tell. I don't have to wonder what he's going to do with it, I already know. He picks it up and sets it on his tongue. As he closes his mouth and begins to walk away untouched and still unaware, the piece dissolves, melting away. I'm melting into him.

You may think I'm laying here fast asleep, but I'm not. I'm still here in this dark and indecisive room, looking out at a boy, and it's still so dark. I cannot see his face, and maybe, just maybe, he can't see mine.

You might think I'm dreaming, but I'm not.