I want to wake up at night and go to my terrace, lie back and gaze at stars. When i was young, i'd call them names and i remembered each one. Now i don't remember, neither the stars nor the names. I vaguely remember quaint conversations i'd have with them. Then i grew up to know i only had conversations with myself as they looked on. Twinkled. Peeped out of holes in the sky. On the sly. Sprinkling sparks of joy over my reclaimed solitude. City lights twinkled at a distance. It was that distance that always drew me to my terrace. I needed it. I could feel my breath on my nostrils, i could feel the air in my lungs. But for my body, i would fly deep into the night sky. From space into space. I would see planes take-off into the night sky at a distance. And i'd see planes circling the city, waiting for a signal. I always wondered if the city would look any prettier from the sky than it did from my terrace. Now things have changed. There are thrice as many planes taking-off and landing. The terrace lies derelict in wait and i'm writing ads selling Penthouse dreams drafted from my terrace memories. Sometimes life just takes you too far to get back to where you've once been. Somedays you regret it. Somedays you dont. I just miss my terrace.
Oh, on a lighter note.. much to my dismay these Penthouses are not paperback :)