From one hundred and nineteen stories up, the city looks very different. Looking down, I realize that the city isn't that much different from the sky. They both are just an endless ocean of lights. They both are indistinguishable from each other from up here, panoramically fading into one another.

We stand, holding hands against the backdrop of the city lights meet night sky. She traces her other hand along the outline of the horizon, pretending to sketch over this painted metropolis.

I look over, and her eyes reflect the cityscape. A thousand beautiful lights all coming together in a spot no bigger than a centimeter. Her pupils harbor this city and all its majesty.

From up here the city looks like an elaborate electrical circuit; like a crystalline highway. It is a maze of nameless streets and unidentifiable people. The residents appear only as faded blips on a malfunctioning radar. On the ledge of this building, on the ledge of our lives, I see the circuit-board city below. I see the streets that act as a roadmap for our lives.

The height is luring.




Huffing and adorned in a long trench coat and top hat, an old man rushes up the flights up stairs. The pocketwatch that hangs from his jacket pocket reads 6:26 A.M.

He reaches the top floor and hurriedly opens the door to the roof.

The shadow of two figures is cast against the backdrop of the ascending sun. Their hands are conjoined, both looking off into the distance.

The silhouettes turn slowly and look into each others eyes for a brief moment. Gradually, they lean in and kiss. They pull away slowly, never losing each other's gaze.

The man gasps.


Their figures disappear, leaving behind only the empty morning sky of orange and light blue.


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