The air around me was once filled with stout tendrils of hope. 

I was a light, a beacon, the perfect picture of persistence. 

Now the air is musty, filled with nothing but the occasional fleeting flash of love and obstinate, horrid coils of despair. 

Engines fire up, only to speedily die and turn back to heavy clumps of metal which cling to my heart. I have no drive. No reason to keep those engines going. To keep those engines alive. And why should I have to? There is no person there, not even behind the masses of fog which cloud my vision. 

Why should I hold on? Just beyond the wall there is infinite possibilities. I can start again. I can live life like the character of a novel. I can experience the flutters in my stomach, the dread weighing down my heart, euphoria tipping me over and the journey of love. All I have to do is let go. I just have to release my weak hold on the string. For I have held onto this life for far too long.

My body is rigid, unmovable. I cannot taste, nor eat. I cannot smell. I do not know where I am. 

I cannot remember who I was- who I am. 

I can sense a soul within me, it bangs against the bone of my ribcage, yelling and screaming silently to be released. But it would be so much easier to let go of the string than to find myself again. The soul encased within is weak. She does not love. She is reckless, unforgiving. I do not want to let her out. 

I listen to the slow yet persistent pounding in my chest. My heart does not want to let go. But it is not in charge. I am. I think of the string in my hands. Of the girl inside if me. I don't want to be her again. I want to tumble into the unknown, where I can be happy and free. So I let go. My heart plummets; I am falling. I am weightless. I am free.