Standing on a ledge; I can’t think of a better perspective. The world below you is small, blurry, inconceivable. The wasteland underneath lies in such contrast to the cleanliness of the heavens. But at this distance the filth and flaws are hidden in obscurity. From here your realm seems fresh, almost tranquil. You know better. The infinite majesty before you is much more conspicuous. Standing on your mountain of confidence you realize now why the birds sound so happy in their song. Your hair dances to the drumbeat inside your chest. The higher you are the windier it gets. An outstretched hand reminds you of this fact. The slits between your fingers are the only things preventing it from waving like a banner of flesh. But the kiss of the clouds cannot last forever. You thank the sky for the time you’ve spent together and take the first and only step back to reality. As the earth comes crashing toward you only two things cross your mind. The first, the sad irony that the smallness of the world below, which was the beautiful push that led to your descent, is now becoming larger with every passing window. The obscurity turns to clarity. Every crack, every flaw, every ugly creature crawling over the land: they’re all visible and becoming horrifyingly detailed. The second, a rather curious question of spatiality…if another should soon take your place on the ledge will your splatter be large enough for them to see?
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