Like summer rain
I watched you fall
Heavy, with a warm breath.
An art form,
Self-destructing in mid-air.
The fall is always harder
Once you meet ground.

Bitter is always the crash into reality.
A reopened wound hurts more the second time...
the third...and then twenty...
Still you always answer: I feel fine.

Who am I
to ask:
Did the concrete sting more this time?
What made you choose the fourth-story window
When I would have chosen nine?
...but maybe it wasn't your time
No, it wasn't your time
Neither was it mine

I feel fine.