The wind blows through my hair. I’m standing on the edge again.

I’ve gone to the edge of that white cliff so much lately it’s become routine, a sort of mindless therapy-type thing. Most people would probably say it’s a bad thing for a guy who wants to die to go stand on the slippery, mossy edge of a huge cliff, but I don’t think it is. At least not for me personally. See, I don’t wanna die that way. I still have work to do. I’m not jumping yet.

But I’ve gone to the edge so much lately because of the feeling I get from it. When your brain is numb, there’s really only a few things you can feel, pain being the top of that particular list. And at the moment, me and Pain aren’t on talking terms. So the cliff is where I feel.

As I walked up, the switchbacks were slippery, and the rocks scraped my bare feet. That combined with the steep incline should’ve had my legs burning and my feet aching, but it didn’t. As I said, me and Pain aren’t speaking.

I reached the top, the wind tearing at my loose shirt and shoving my hair back, twisting it around in every direction. At this height, I could see into the dark frothing mass of the ocean surrounding three sides of my little peninsula. The fog had settled down from earlier, and I could see the hazy tip of land a few miles to my right. I walked slow slowly forward, deliberately placing each of my feet on the cold, wet moss clinging to the stone of the cliff’s top. The wind shifted, blowing directly against me as if trying to push me back and steal the little breath I had left. Then, as if changing its mind the wind stopped, slowing down to a whistling breeze. Giving up, whistling innocently.

As I reached the edge, I felt that flutter - the meager flop of my heart that was the extent of my feeling nowadays. I slid my bare feet to the very edge, my toes hanging off. The black waves far beneath pounded their heads repeatedly on the stones, water driven to self-destructing madness. I watched them for a moment, trying to not be disturbed by the similarities between the ocean and myself.

The wind picked up suddenly, pushing against my back, still whistling innocently as it tried to shove me to my death. I didn’t move, didn’t budge. I just stood there on the edge of balance, tipping between life and death. I closed my eyes, breathing, trying to feel. Trying to remember, but not remember Her.

I don’t know how long I stood there, silent and still, eyes closed. It must’ve been some time because when I opened them again, the sun had just touched the horizon, sending its calm light across the waves.

I breathed in slowly, gazing directly at the sun. It was still foggy enough that it didn’t hurt to look at and you could just… see it. The sun is so much calmer in the evenings, so much gentler. Peaceful.

The faint sounds from the camp below drifted up the hill, the world determined to never give me too long a respite from its chaos. Just like that, my little bubble of being okay was popped, vulnerable as it is. Back to life, at least this shadow of what it’s supposed to be.

One day, maybe I’ll be able to look the sun right in the face and see what he really looks like. Maybe one day, the light will stop running from me. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to feel again.

But not today.