Middle

The height never felt so comfortable. Forty three floors far from the ground, when in fact it was just forty two if you account for the absence of the thirteenth. People are superstitious and I'm afraid of heights (and I have a bad habit of putting two unrelated thoughts side by side). My body always has this response of cold sweating hands and cold sweating soles, tingles in the fingertips, quickened heartbeat, weak knees and an urge to run somewhere safe. But not tonight, you see. The lights, the little world beneath me and the night sky above me, I am sandwiched by two different places. And I would like to think that I bring them together, not separate them. I am the tunnel, I am the bridge, I am the keeper of the the door between. Where I stand, the wind is liberating I want to stretch my arms and believe that I  have wings for flying. And I might get carried away. But if I jump, I will do it for the freedom of my downward flight in celebration of my return to where I came from, and I'll scatter petals and be welcomed by mother ground.