about flying all the way to where you are,
how these skyscrapers survive each other
but never us. Never saw all of these
in your rooftop: clouds of smog, firefly
traffic, whistles of emptiness. I stopped
these futile attempts to wait for another
lunar eclipse, fireworks displays, meteor
showers, showing up whenever they want.
Perhaps, I let nights pass, wondering
if you are reading, being part of towering
statistics. Perhaps, you never thought
of me in these nights. Who am I to be there,
when all along, my eyes are blurring the horizon?
I think it’s time to go back to the elevator.