A Prose With No Direction

look straight

There's a stairway behind a hidden door that sits at the end of the third-story's hallway. That stairway, one that is old, rickety, and owning rotten floorboards, leads to an empty attic with a window opening up to the roof. 

I open the door and walk up the rotting floorboards, each step making known to my empty house that I'm ascending towards the roof. Opening the window of the attic, a cold gust of wind greets me through a slap on the face, and I shiver tremendously. 

I've never been out on the roof since before the incident, so it's hard to sit on it now. But I sit down anyway, the wind blowing through my hair as I stare down at my neighborhood, the grey house quite visible from my position, and stare at the scenic view beyond it. 

My house is quite tall, and being on the roof, it's quite a fall from here. I stare at the concrete below me, feeling no fear of falling—I need to work on that—before eyes rising up again to look at the world beyond the rows and rows of houses. 

My house lives on a hill that surveys the city's downtown, the nighttime lights and modern apartments being in clear sight from the rooftop. It's quite beautiful at night.

But as I stare at the beauty of what's ahead of me and think about the tall height of where I'm sitting, I began wondering and wondering and wondering and wondering. 

People always say, when you're flying high, don't look down.

Look straight.

Since when u do, u'll doubt urself, wondering how u managed to fly so high which makes ur legs go shakity-shake, heart pumpity-pump, and mind go spin and spin.

So, instead of looking down, people tell you to look straight.

Because when you do, you can see the beautiful aerial view of the city, watching as the horizons expand beyond your reach, making you wonder how far you can go with your wings.

I guess that applies to life, too.

Instead of looking down, wondering how you made it up this time, look straight and think how far you can go with all that you've already accomplished. 

I guess that's why people tell you to look straight instead of looking down in such heights.

Look straight at what's ahead of you instead of looking down what's already been done.

Maybe I'll try that. 

As I stare out at the view in front of me, a figure down below on the street catches my eye. Eyes turn away from the aerial view to find a familiar face with ocean-colored eyes. 

"Clara!" He calls, waving.

I look down at him, eyes meeting eyes down below them on the street.