Free Falling.

Typical Friday night.
Dinnertime,
I'm in my Pyjamas,on the front lawn,
Weather's all breezy and cool.
I pluck at tufts of grass,
I look up now,
and there he is,
at the ledge of the terrace,
dressed in a thin grey sweater and an old pair of jeans,
slight stubble,
"He must be cold" I think,
But I don't ask him.
Instead I ask "Aren't you scared?"
"Of what?" he says.
"Falling?"I ask,voice deadbeat.
He doesn't answer.
He just stares back,long and hard,
but it isn't intimidating,at all.
Slowly,he drags a foot off the ledge,as if it were a heavy brick,
and then the other,
I freeze on the lawn,my mouth hangs open,"Are you out of your mind?Wake up!You aren't on a Skyscraper,Jaywalking" I scream.
But it's too late,
He's already on his way to the ground,
I close my eyes,
"Please be a nightmare.A horror movie"  I pray.
But when I finally gather the courage to look,
he's no longer there,
There's just a white feather,
falling to the ground,with all it's leftover grace,
Being beautiful,even as it reaches for it's death.
I reach for it,now.
It feels soft and warm against my sweaty palm,
I have a soul in my fist.