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I thought of you today. She asked me about the shitty things that happen in life and all I could picture was you crouched in that window of a seven-story building, all I could feel in my chest was the cool April air against your cheeks and how quickly a body can fall. I missed your day this year; I thought perhaps enough time had passed and erased your story from my lungs, but it never will. You fade, a little, and perhaps the circumstances get a little more condensed, but you are always here. You always remind me to keep going.

I am still afraid of heights. But I am hellbent on learning how to fly.