What would it be like to fall?
And in that moment, as soon as the question had been put forth, all I desired was to fall, as antithetical as that action would be, and at that point, it was too late: the fall that I had believed to be inevitable had suddenly become inevitable by my own hand.
I resisted. I kept my feet on track, kept them moving, back and forth across the ledge.
But now (without allowing my consciousness to become aware of my actions), I would close my eyes; or pray for wind; or toe at its edges. I was no longer trying to not fall. So that I would know. I had to know. What would it be like to fall?
I continued resisting. But my resolve was weakening with each iteration.
And as my mind raged back and forth, between the knowledge that there was nothing to be gained by falling and the overwhelming desire to know the pain of falling: