Higher

Frozen in time, in space, in life. I cannot move; paralyzed. My blood is ice. My heart has stopped. I feel like a star of cold fire walking through the night. It's a lie. I'm no star among the heavens.

Fire burns below, but I am higher. Ever so much higher. Higher than the flames. Higher than the world. Higher than the smoke and clouds. It's cold up here, ever so much colder on this midnight mountain. That's why I'm frozen. Not because the wind bites through my clothing. Not because my hands feel numb with chill. Not because the air burns each time I breathe it in. I am higher than the world and that's why.

I have trapped myself, caught between a rock and a hard place. I know that behind me and underneath my feet is the mountain, solid and firm. But all I can see is the empty space glittering with lights. The tainted lights of the earth reflect the purity of the midnight sky in a twisted perversion. And the play on lights makes me dizzier than I already am, a different kind of vertigo.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be afraid. Yet here I am, sick with height, poisoned and paralyzed. I can't move. I can hardly breathe. Why did I come here? Why did I think that tonight I would fly? How can I fly if I can't get my feet off the ground? I can't do this. I'm so afraid. I'm so frightened. I can't do this. I can't fly. I have no wings, nothing to lift me off the ground. I have nothing. I can't fly. And I'm not sure I want to.

Flying would take me higher. Flying would take me further than the summit of this mountain, further into the night. I want to fly. But I don't want to go higher. This is already too much, too far beyond the limits of my comfort. I want the solid ground beneath my feet again. I want to be close to the ground. I want to know with certainty that I won't fall.

And yet I dearly long to fly.

Looking down, looking back and focusing on where I've been has crippled me. I close my eyes, block out the view, block out my fear. I can breathe again and the night breathes with me. I feel the wind rushing past my face, its long fingers running through my hair. I feel the coolness against my warm skin, no longer ice. Stars are light; light is not frozen. Light moves and bends. It is warm, it is alive, and so am I. I turn my back on the ground, the darkened mimicry of the heavens that called my name since birth. In doing so, I have turned my gaze to the mountain, the mighty structure that supported me in my weakness. Oddly enough, I will miss it. It was a comfort to me, holding me when I could barely stand. But the time has come and I must leave it.

Standing on the edge is terrifying. I can feel nothing beneath my heels, only the balls of my feet on the mountain. Again, my blood runs cold. Chills run down my spine, running from the fear I feel. This is the climax, the pivot point, the door of no return. I cannot move forwards or backwards, unsure and questioning my sanity. I'm afraid to fall. I'm afraid of the heights. I cannot move.

The stars beckon me to look at them once more, and as I tilt my head back to look up at them, I can feel my body move. I can feel myself falling backwards, a strange out-of-place, out-of-body experience. I can almost see myself falling. And I can almost see the smile creeping onto my face. The fear is still there, but it has changed now that I have moved. It's like the type of fear one has when one is actually taking the test, riding the roller coaster, talking to their crush. No longer is the fear anticipatory. The thrill of the action takes the wheel, while fear moves to the backseat, only present to add to the figurative roadtrip.

I'm afraid to fall and I am falling. I'm afraid of heights and I am going there. There is but one thought in my mind now, one thought as I feel the night surround me.

This is what it's like to fly.