My Body Washed Up On Manila Bay Two Days Later
I once saw a girl walking on the edge of a bridge. She looked sullen. She didn't notice the cars quickly passing beside her, nearly running her over. All her attention was directed to the rushing water under the bridge. She moved over the railings and stood on the edge. She sighed looked up to the sky. A tear rolled down her cheek and she closed her eyes. She gripped the steel railings tightly, preparing to jump.
I couldn't decide whether or not to stop her. To end her life was her choice, and who was I to tell her not to jump? Nobody except her had an idea of the sadness she was feeling. Nobody had the right to tell her it was going to be okay, because nobody was sure if it will. I wanted to tell her to hang in there, that maybe, just maybe, there's a little hope. But her presence made me feel the weight of the world, and I couldn't speak. All I did was stand there, watching.
Our eyes met. Her pain and sadness coursed its way into my veins. I understood. This was her choice. It wasn't just a matter of lost hope, it was knowing that she had grown tired of life. She didn't want a part of it anymore. She decided it was best to go. I closed my eyes, let go of the railing and jumped.













