She thought about it. Far more than she would ever want to consider reasoning, she thought about it. Him. The empty bullet of a question.
Walking up a steep slope it intrudes in her mind again. She reaches the top and looks down at the road as she walks. She wonders what it would be like to jump, to fall, would she feel peace? Not that she would, not that she could, but nonetheless in a completely fenced bridge over six lanes of traffic, the possibility of a jump is a welcome relief from the discomfort of attraction. Stick to the reality of the mental illness and try to burn the fictional hope of romance.
She doesn’t stop walking.
:::
it's ok i'm fine, don't worry. i'm not suicidal.
