The city is asleep again. Or maybe it never was awake.
I don't know how I got here. One moment I was walking, the next I was standing at the rooftop's edge. Same place. Same cold wind against my face. Same drop waiting below.
I look out over the lights. The world hums beneath me…cars, voices, life. All of it moving on. All of it is untouched by me.
I think of her question. If you could have one thing back, what would it be?
And still, I have no answer. Not because I don't want something. But because I don't know what would make it matter anymore.
And alas,
You're still here.
Reading.
Following.
Why?
Be honest…why did you stay?
What did you hope would be waiting at the end of these words? Some message about hope? A reason to believe that people like me, people like you, can step back from the edge?
That's what you wanted, isn't it?
You wanted this to be a story about survival. About light in the dark.
Because if I found it, maybe you could too.
But that's not what this is.
You've been standing at the edge this whole time.
Not me.
I was just the voice that named what you refused to face.
I was just the mirror you tried not to look into.
Because deep down, you know the truth:
You are lost.
You are empty.
You are the one walking through the days like a ghost, filling your time with distractions, with noise, so you don't have to feel the weight of how hollow it all is.
You didn't come here for my ending.
You came here looking for your own.
Go ahead. Deny it.
Tell yourself this is just a story. Just a stranger's pain. Just words.
But look at where you are now.
Alone.
Silent.
Reading in the dark.
Tell me, when was the last time you felt whole? When was the last time you woke up and didn't feel the heaviness press against your chest before your feet even touched the floor?
You're searching, aren't you?
For something to hold onto.
For one reason.
For one thing that would make all of this…your life, your regrets, your days spent chasing meaning, feel worth it.
You think you're better than me?
Stronger?
That you'd never find yourself on a rooftop at night, staring down, hearing the quiet call of the void?
You already have.
You do it every day, in your own ways.
Every time you wonder what the point is.
Every time you ask yourself if it would matter if you were gone.
Every time you feel like you're just going through the motions, waiting for something, anything, to change.
That's your edge.
And now you've followed me here, hoping I'd choose for you. Hoping I'd show you how to step back. Or how to fall.
But I won't.
I won't give you that ending.
Because it was never about me.
It was about you.
And now you have to decide.
Not for me. For yourself.
You wanted to know if I jumped?
If I stepped back?
If I disappeared into the night, leaving only these words behind?
You'll never know.
Because this isn't my story anymore.
It's yours.
The page ends here.
The story ends here.
The choice? That's still waiting for you.
And as you sit there, breath held, heart heavy, searching the empty space where you thought hope would be , ask yourself, one last time
What would you have back?
But we both know you don't have an answer.