One of my dearest friends completed suicide in 2018, jumping off a building. Years later I tried connecting the sense of freedom I felt cliff jumping into a quarry when I was a child, and melded the two together. Written in 2021.
Summer soil melded between bloodied feet. There is gravel stuck between bone and soul in their arch. A curve, a signature that belongs to an individual, it is yours and only yours. It leaves a mark on that cliff where children beat the heat to feel gravity’s sobering pull. Water is the safety net, some simply wish to go from Sixty to one hundred percent. Maybe then there is freedom. I think I know how it felt when he left scuffed marks and solemn remarks. There was only shoeprints and concrete. But there was also a cracking of a shell, and water flowing from its dam. Who am I to blame a man that wished to feel freefall forever.
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