That evening, instead of closing my eyes, I decided to keep them open. I stepped out into the balcony, the biting cold of the blue handrail beneath my steady hands and the bitter sting of the austere tiles beneath my bare feet struggling to keep me grounded. It was the first time I'd ever felt this cold, and it was the first time I didn't care.
The night sky - pitch-black and decked with the sparkle of stars I didn't see back home promised me that beauty existed in things that choose to hide themselves from empty eyes. To be graced with the presence of something as striking and celestial as stars twinkling on an abyssal background is a courtesy we take for granted.
The clouds, grey and translucent, shifted to reveal the city's skyline. Dozens and dozens of buildings, desperately trying to touch the sky helped light up the world we've made our own. The windows and the streetlights below blink on off every now and then, as if imitating the balls of flame above. Tonight, I couldn't hear the honk of the horns or the angry cry of a frustrated taxi driver. All I could hear was the wind and the slow trickle of water down the roof and onto my open palm as I wait for the coming rain.
I didn't realize that escape could be found not in fiction, but in the reality I so desperately try to avoid. The problem lies in looking for those still moments, trapping them, and making of them a timeless memory.