And I suppose it’s as they say: what goes up must come down. But it’s a shame they don't tell you about the crash. They don't mention how hard you'll hit, or how much it will hurt. There’s no talk of the bones cracking, the lungs wheezing, the heart bleeding and bruised. Even worse, the look in your lover’s eyes when he watches you plummet to the pavement and rupture into a thousand grisly pieces at his feet. It’s a bloodbath, a massacre, a catastrophe. It’s inevitable, though; there’s always a crash. And I think if I’d have known… I never would have tried to fly.
