There were voices. A camera crew. A group of girls watching from the side. It felt like a dare, or a challenge. Or maybe just one of those moments where the world holds its breath to see who you really are.
Someone behind me was hyping me up. "Yo, just jump! It ain’t that high. Looks soft!" But my feet? They weren’t moving. And in the dream, time wasn’t fixed—it was on a loop, waiting for me to make a different choice. I could feel it. I wasn’t just up there—I was somewhere between the now and all the what-could’ve-beens.
I looked down again. Snow looked soft. But I’ve landed in soft things that still broke me before.
Then he came—my boy. Loud. Laughing. Calling me slow. “You’re takin’ too long, bro.” He ran past and took the leap I wouldn’t. Midair for a second, then crack—his leg folded in a way that wasn’t meant to happen. He screamed. I didn’t move.
In this life, I would’ve jumped without thinking. That was the old me. Prove it or die tryin’. But in the dream? I stood still.
Didn’t matter if it impressed anybody. Didn’t matter if they clowned me. I wasn’t risking everything to look fearless anymore.
I woke up sweating like I’d actually hit the ground. But I hadn’t. Because for once—I didn’t jump. And maybe that’s why I’m still here.
