Breaths

They will see us waving from such great heights
‘Come down now,’ they’ll say.
But everything looks perfect from far away
‘Come down now.’ But we’ll stay.

             – The Postal Service 

We’re up in the clouds, right at the edge, feet dangling through the wisps of moisture. I can see the city several stratospheres below, hurrying on. Pedestrians swarm sidewalks, cars hum impatiently at lights, skyscrapers claw endlessly for us.

“Do we ever have to go back down?” I ask lazily. Overhead, a spattering of stars lays scattered, holes punched in a velvet curtain.

“No,” he says. He’s lying on his back, tracing constellations in the night sky. “But we will.”

We are so far away from reality here, sitting on the line where dusk meets dawn. I see human specks hurrying in the city below. They’re running on muscles knotted from stress, caffeine. Too little sleep. Too many expectations. Their shoulders are strung with live wires and their steps land heavy on the pavement.

Up here, it’s all padded with stillness. The sky sounds like crickets.

“We’re never going to achieve everything we wanted to, are we?” I ask.

“No,” he says, simply. “But up here, does it matter?”

It was already a lifetime ago. I dig my toes into the clouds and lay back, and we drink in the whole universe together. All in a single moment.

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