Jumping- will I fly or fall?

I wish I could fly.

Or at least, be absolutely sure that I would not fall.

If I knew this, then I would jump- I would, I would jump.

The problem is, I am so afraid of falling, and so much depends on me not falling, that I have forgotten why I wanted to jump in the first place.

I remembered this morning- or at least smelt it a bit. The reason I wanted to jump is simple- hope.

The thought of jumping allows me to have hope- it lights my imagination, gets me up in the morning, keeps me up at night; it even wakes me up!

But there are so many things which stop me from truly committing to the jump. My family, who I adore; my home, which is my castle; my lifestyle, which I love as a bare minimum.

If I fall, then they will all be punished.

So I don't jump.

I make pretend that I am sensible, that I am doing the 'responsible' thing by not jumping.

But I know that when I die, I die alone. I take all I did, and all I didn't do inside of me.

So I wait for the time to be right, unsure what defines that precise moment- I may have missed it, and never knew.

I look to those who have flown with pleasure and motivation. Rarely do I hear about those who fell- they get blocked out with all the noise of everyday life.

I know what I want- the hope of wings.

I do, I wish I could fly; if I could, then I would jump.

Instead, I close my eyes and wish, wish, wish.

But if I looked down, then I would see the earth far, far beneath me, my shadow disappearing in the distance.

For the things which I want to protect by not jumping are the things which are lift me without my knowing.

All the while, I sit and wish- wish to jump.

Just for the hope.