i'm at the top of a bulding. The cars look so so small below. Diminutive like me. The wind is so strong up here, muscling through each tall bulding, pushing my back, whipping my hair to my face. it bothers me now, writing a note to no one. it's a goodbye (of sorts), more because of "should's" than any legitimate reason.
"if i had a superpower, it would be mental resiliency."
i face the wind, clutching the paper in my hand. my palm opens.
it is flying.
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