I want to be on top of a building.

On a clear night, we’d be able to see lights forever.  So peaceful up there, away from it all, resting on one man’s creation that doesn’t defy physics, but implies physics.  I can feel the cool breeze wandering through my plaid flannel as inhale.  Releasing a quiet cloud of smoke, my appreciation for this place grows with my perception.  Our laughter can be heard across the town, and maybe further, I’m sure of it.  Lying down, I notice the haze that separates us from the stars (city lights and smog).  We are infinitely small.  The universe can’t see us, but we can see the universe.  Talking about the illusion of time, we realize that we’re in the right place, and that a moment can last forever.  We found a bucket of red paint up there, so we put it to use.  Standing at the edge of the building was surreal as we both used our hands to toss the bucket into the air; what a magnificent spill.  The paint was alive without limitation as it dove ten stories at gravity’s request.  It dried on the sidewalk where it will remain our memory.