Suicide is just a moment. For just
a moment, it doesn't matter that you've got people who
love you and the sun is shining and there's a movie coming
out this weekend that you've been dying to see. It hits you
all of a sudden that nothing is ever going to be okay, ever, and
you kind of dare yourself. You pick up a knife and press it
gently to your skin, you look out a nineteenth-story window and
you think, I could just do it. I could just do it. And most of
the time, you look at the height and you get scared, or you think
about the poor people on the sidewalk below - what if there are
kids coming home from school and they have to spend the rest of
their lives trying to forget this terrible thing you're going
to make them see? And the moment's over. You think about how
sad it would've been if you never got to see that movie, and
you look at your dog and wonder who would've taken care of
her if you had gone. And you go back to normal. But you keep it
there in your mind. Even if you never take yourself up on it, it
gives you a kind of comfort to know that the day is yours to
choose. You tuck it away in your brain like sour candy tucked in
your cheek, and the puckering memory it leaves behind, the rough
pleasure of running your tongue over its strange
terrain...