I have always wanted to dream of flying

Vertigo. When it has a name it is safer than the simple knowledge that I want to jump from high heights.
I never realised before now that the reason that some people are scared of heights is because they think they might jump.
I always thought that the reason I don’t mind heights, so long as there is something to hold on to, is because the rail or branch would stop me from accidentally falling.
I didn’t realise I needed to be reminded that I am matter and i can't fly.
Someone once told me that the more forbidden you know something to be the more compelled you will be to do it.
Your desire will grow the more you tell your self you mustn’t.
Bluebeard watches over us.
We are all bound for the cupboard full of heads.
I look over the edge of the balcony,
watching the sunset and picking lichen off the railings so I can watch it fall, tumbling into the darkness.
I imagine myself flying; half girl half swan.
I have always wanted to dream of flying.
I have to dream about it during the day time and It’s somehow less mystical and more frightening.
I am aware that I am dreaming of what it would be like to swoop off this balcony and glide up over the lake – skimming over the synagogue and over Seven Sisters.
I think it would feel good and I can feel my hands grip the cold metal tighter, reminding myself that this is solid.
If I jump they will have to call an ambulance and try to explain to screaming passers by what happened.
My family will always wonder if I was secretly very unhappy.
My friends will wonder how they could have let this happen.
They will say things like “but she was so young, she had her whole life ahead of her”.
They will not get to share the glory of
my two seconds of flight, headlong into the sunset.
I wonder if they could ever be worth it.
Then I remember that unless I swoop up again all I can ever know if what it feels like to fall.
I remember that bodies pop when they land and I would explode like some sort of unholy watermelon.
Pips and pitch strewn across the childrens play area.
I wonder if the man who invented the aeroplane was ever entirely satisfied with his mechanical flying machine.
Did he ever just wish to walk out onto the wing and dive, golden into the sunset.
You will find me one day hopefully hoarding feathers and gold dust.