Could her life be decided then and there? She sat on the roof, saw the shaking hand in the window. Her own. Her legs dangled, pointing towards a possible destiny. The decision; end it now or amble on through life. Memories, even from yesterday seemed hazy and dreamy, maybe that is how it appeared to her then, too. Her head made things harder than they needed to be. Why couldn't she handle things that others dealt with every day? Why couldn't she untangle the mess which was her head, where had her dreams gone? Where were the juvenile ambitions of adulthood? Somehow she had taken the wrong turning and wandered, in that dreamy way she does, into a forest of doubt, of apathy. She had fallen into an oubliette. A place to forget. Forget what? Who was there? Why had life become so difficult before it had properly started? Why does heart and head disagree so? So this was it. This was the way the story panned out. She had achieved in her life an air of melancholy, a way to keep everbody guessing, she had become the personification of the adolescent inner-child, scared, shaking, not sure where to go next. Life got you down? Well this is it. This is the end. Here's your decision. Sink or swim. Is it brave to take your own life? No, it's cowardice. It's the ultimate escapism. By the time you've made the decision you're already dead, ceased to be, a walking time bomb. Escape or face life. Makes you understand why many choose to die. Those who don't think of dying are the ones that don't realise that life is an option. Didn't ask for it, didn't want it, give it back. In a tattered box, bruised and broken. Lost the receipt. So she sat with her legs pointed towards the possible destiny and her eyes pointed to the stars. Her breath raw and smoky in autumn air. Starlight bathing eyes that needed soothing, twinkling hollow. And as she was watching the inky blackness it dawned on her that she was tired and needed a rest. Strange, I think, that she never thought to stop and ask for directions. wanna go back?