I slid the key into the hole. Pushed the door open, like everyday, got in and shut myself from everything else.

Should I leave the lights switched on everyday when I leave at 10 am? Because when I come back home, it's somewhat late in the evening and the place is dark. And darkness, if it is the first thing I see, makes me go dizzy.

I run to the other side of the room to switch the lights on. Throw my bag on the floor. And then my shoes. I feel my toes, run my fingers in between them. Open my hair. And simply fall on the couch. I let myself sink into it. I love the depths the cushion lets me into. And then the lights go off and I'm out. Completely.

I wake up. 12:45 and still ticking!

The ache in my legs, fatigued has thinned down into something less magnanimous. I look at myself in the mirror. Black smudge around my eyes. I run my hands through my hair. Not silky anymore. That reminds me of the weekend.

After a shower, let some coffee go down the throat. Stale sandwiches of the morning would have to be my dinner.

Some music eh? I have worn all my playlists out. So switch back to good old Shakira!

Wasn't I working on a story? Stories? Yeah, scores of them in obscure folders. Waiting to be wound up from an eternity.

One look out of the window, I see the endless row of lights on the road, tiny lights, distant lights. I stretch my hands and lean on the window sill. I could just fall off.

There is this yearning to fly, batting my hands through the air. Cold and lonely air. I lean further out, even more precariously, more dangerously. Till more than half of me is in the air.

I have never been afraid of danger. I have never been afraid of heights. Of death. But now...