One Regret

His feet are looking down the cold busy city street. They should be trembling but somehow, at that moment, only his hands and chest are. He leans his back and settles comfortably on the handrail. He takes a deep breath as smoke magically comes out his mouth. He looks up the sky. The clouds, the stars and the moon are gazing back at him. But it isn't the far off things he is looking for. All he knows is, at that very moment, the skies are empty.

He look beside him. The cigeratte he puffed earlier is still burning but it has no more use for. It is the last thing he clearly remembers he kissed. He takes a deep breath and with all his might grabs the top of the railing behind him. He carefully pulls his exhausted body up. He feels as if the small yet comfortable edge he was sitting on is lot bigger that he now is standing.

He looks down and notices his feet. The tips of his toes are tightening by edge. This time they are the ones closer to ground. His ankles were used to long waits and standing in lines but not at this height. His ankles are firm yet they are trembling. His hands tighten their grip on the railings. The cold wind of the coming October is carassing the man's hair but he could not feel it. He could not feel anything at all. His emotions warps in a mixed feelings of fear, boldness, regret, hatred and grief. He smiles as he realizes he is for the first time, in his life, is experiencing madness.

The man looks forward slowly observes everything he can see far off and then he averts his eyes down the city streets. The man's eyes could see everything but they are only lines and colors. They are all formless, without meaning.

He slowly turn around. His hands are already relaxed. He isn't holding on to anything anymore. It isn't that he did not want to go see the ground get closer first that he turned around. He isn't afraid of that. He just wants to see if someone would come barging out the metallic gate he got in the roof top before he goes. He is hoping at the very least that someone he knows would come to see him; would come to speak to him; would come to hang out with him; or would come to stop him before he go. But much like the skies there is no one there.

The man closes his eyes and pushes backward. The wind suddenly rushes across his face. Memories of the past comes running across his mind. But that's how things usually go. When he returns to his senses he opens his eyes. The ground is much closer. But somehow his lips smiles. There isn't any regrets in his mind at that moment nor is there any sort of hatred nor grief. In his minds, he remembers a silly phrase he heard before. Suddenly, he regrets something.

"I should have done a backflip," are his last thoughts.