The river below looked as drab and grey
as the still, forbidding sky above. The day
was a perfect underscore for my mood.
No. More than mood. The life
I’ve prepared to abandon for months.
The dreariness of living has laid a
road ahead far too bleak to consider.
I am through, as the cold wraps
itself around my thin coat, my
weak, frail body. I am numb to caring.
As the wind picks up, I feel icy frost catch in
my hair on my bare head. My face, too,
is by now bitten by frost. It must be painful.
I feel nothing. Just weary from standing,
looking down, bracing myself against the wind.
Loneliness has helped me along this decisive
path…although I have never in my short life
of 23 years been decisive. Now I seek
emptiness, clear and unmuddled.
Soft, peaceful, quiet. No voices
in my head. No other outside
voices either. But there were none anyway.
Well, maybe just the doc’s.
But he knew nothing about anything,
nothing about me. I am very sure
he cared even less.
Looking down now at the dreary,
cold river, I know it will be
the first time I will actually
feel something thrilling other
than numbness. Finally!
I will so enjoy this plunge…
© Joan A. Evans 2018 All rights reserved