In retrospect, it seemed insane that no one had put a guardrail up there. You could stand on the edge of the cliff, with dozens of people milling about, and stare a good 10 stories worth of height straight down into the Atlantic Ocean. She wanted to do just that, to stand with her toes on the edge and look into the swirling mass of waves breaking against the rock, but the precariousness of the situation pulled her back towards safety.
Instead, she got up at 6 am and hiked back up the well-worn path to the top of the precipice. Now, all alone, she dared to lie on her belly and peer down the sheer verticality, which plunged perpendicular into the plane of the sea. Her pulse quickened and the tips of her fingers tingled with the vertigo. It was exhilarating but also maddening. At a certain level, it was always a disappointment to be reminded that she could not fly.
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