She fell 57 feet, and never saw anything but him. She never looked up and noticed how far she fell. She couldn’t see anything but his face, his swift hair, his mannerisms. She fell 57 feet and barely noticed. She was wrapped in his arms, wrapped in his kiss, wrapped in his love. She fell 57 feet to the ground, and never blinked an eye.


The way he walked, the way he talked. The first 10 feet were crazy, she was confused and didn’t know what to do. Then she hit 15 feet, and she knew she liked him. 20 feet and she was crushing. 23 feet made her flirt with him a bit. Winking, smiling, and blowing kisses all the way to 27 feet.


27 feet from the ground and he asked her on a date. 30 feet and she hit the butterflies. They landed in her stomach and refused to leave until 35 feet, when he kissed her cheek after the movie. She swooned at every sighting of him until she was 39 feet from that rooftop and they went to homecoming. He bought a corsage, wrapped it around her wrist, and kissed her on the hand.


She nearly fainted, but stayed conscious to make it to 40 feet when they slow danced to her favourite song. She sped to 43 feet when he kissed her on the lips for the first time in the gym at the dance. Her heart thumped in and out of time at 48 feet, she was 48 feet from the sky so quickly she didn’t even think. He asked her to be his forever.


at 55 feet from her starting point, she kissed him again, and at 57 feet from her beloved, safe rooftop, he caught her. She fell 57 feet in love with him, and there was no way of getting back. She wouldn’t go back to that rooftop. She wouldn’t fall again.


She was on the ground now, whether he continued to hold her there, right on the sidewalk beneath her rooftop, or if he dropped her there and never looked back. She would still be 57 feet in love with him.