push.

Ready to leap.
I approach, with confident steps...only to stop at the edge of the airplane door. My parachute firmly in tact, safety precautions in place. I pause, muscles ready to jump, and...
Nothing.
Breath leaves me, tears form. "I can't do it!" I cry.
I whip around hysterically to yell at the lot of you, "What if it doesn't open? My chute? Then it's over...I'll die!"
You step forward one by one, to hold my hands, brush my cheek, a force field against fear.
Whispering, "Is dying really the worst alternative? Or not living?" I open my mouth to answer, when suddenly I feel my balance shift.
I'm flying through the air.
You pushed me.
You PUSHED me when I told you not to.
How could you?
How...could...?
Wow.

I love you.