him her

rooftops

It's like standing on top of a roof top, in the pouring rain, slipping from the smooth top of a high place.

\\\\Am i ready to fall? What if i jumped, would it be high enough? Do i want to die, or suffer the pain?

Would i even feel it?

That's what death is like. In-decifering the consequences, if it's alright to die now. As in, now.

Does it make sense? Death?

No, not really. Because when-o-ever do you stare from a rooftop, deciding whether or not to die, if you're not speaking of death?

You're staring at the lights, which means happiness, or you're staring at the fall, which means you will die, because you are dying. Dying by thoughts of dying.

It doesn't make sense. But does it need to?

No. Because you are dead.

And that's why, when you're staring at the fall of a building, you do not think of death, or imagine the courage it'd take to jump. No, instead, you look at the streetlights, or the constellations, and think.. those are lights. that means there is light, like there will be, at the end of my tunnel. It may take me my life time to see it, but that rooftop is not what matters. What matters are the lights from a-top that slippery roof.

This has not much to do with the story, but, as seeing i need to update, i had thought i'd put this up. It is not about the little things, it is about the whole picture. He is dead, he died from heartbreak. HE was staring from that rooftop, and he did not notice those lights. He did not see the stars, but instead, what was beyond them. And that is a very difficult thing to over-come