So without further ado, Looking Up:
Why is it that before the final plunge, our faces so often turn skyward? Looking down at the pavement, twisting stories below the tips of scuffed tennis shoes, a certain calm flows through us. Then the breeze carries our eyes upward, into a starless sky. There's no moon tonight, and the streetlights' gazes don't reach further than the third set of black windows. But the endless darkness draws our eyes upward, upward, even as the body descends, until all that's left below is the empty shell of urban life, and all that's left above is the full feeling of the sky and its boundless potential.
...I don't condone suicide... I've just been haunted by this vision of standing on the edge, feeling the earth pulling me down, even as my soul rises with the wind rushing up the buildings at my feet.
For this reason... I want to skydive against gravity. Stupid lack of wings. XD