There’s something about rooftops and heights and buildings that makes me want to live, and jump, and die, and laugh, and fall in love, and cry, all at the same time.
I’m in love with heights. I love the scenic view of anything from above. No matter what it is, even if it’s just a view of garbage pile, I don’t really mind as long as I’m on up above, above the world’s care, above the people’s chatter below, above the lines of honking cars that piles up creating the typical Monday traffic.
I guess it’s the peaceful feeling that comes with it. Of being above. The kind of peace that makes all the noises and voices in my head stop. And I crave for that feeling, that feeling of stillness and of calm nothingness.
So it’s not too much to ask I guess
to be on the world’s highest building
on a windy cold midnight
and with the moon shining in the clear sky
then waking up the next day
with nothing but a vague feeling
tugging at my heart
for the rest of my life.
Maybe, I have been already in that place. That place that haunts me on my sleep when I was young, that special place that I haven’t been on yet but am familiar like the back of my hand, a place I don’t even know if it exists.
And sometimes when the vision persists you can’t help but wonder if it happened in some past lives or some dream that you can’t remember anymore.
– – –
Inspired by #FWF Free Write Friday: Ponder This…