I'm sitting on a windowsill, a downward slant thirty feet above pavement. The muscles in my legs pull me back toward the bedroom, self-preservation kicking in to keep me alive one more night, another day to cross my fingers and hope my head's on straight. There's so much beauty around me, there's so much I haven't seen, there's so much I've been a part of lately but I'm looking at the sky on the other side of the world and trying to convince myself I deserve to be here.
I'm sitting on a windowsill, with my feet hanging over the edge, and I feel the nerves traveling through my toes telling me to go back inside, drink more wine, go to sleep and think about it tomorrow, but it's always a sudden tomorrow and I'm still on the edge and I wonder when I won't be.
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