I am free, free fallin'

There must be something awfully attractive about gravity. (No pun intended.) Especially when you're looking down from way up high. Someone called it the self-destructive, maddeningly addictive urge-of-the-plunge. People throwing themselves off of skyscrapers in a million movies, with a million whooshing wind effects. Trying to make a clean or not-so-clean dive into oblivion. Nietzsche in your head whispering delightedly about a certain abyss that likes to stare back at folks foolishly staring into it.

All the backflips your tummy's hellbent on performing the moment one of those giant boat-shaped pendulums in amusement parks throws you up into the air, right before you throw up the dosa-chutney you had for lunch.

The momentary chill that swims up and down your spine when you lean too far back in a park swing you've been goading higher and higher, right before you realize you wont really fall. Swings always helped me colour my childhood fantasies about flying. If you cud only successfully will the cold steel chains holding up the wooden seat of that wonderful, wonderful swing out of existence, it would be like flying through the air. It wud be an almost-flight before the fall.

And falling, in the span before realisation or even the ground hits you, falling can be wonderfully freeing. Thats why its called a free fall, no?