rooftop conversations

"I have the deepest affection for intellectual conversations. The ability to just sit and talk. About love, about life, about anything, about everything. To sit under the moon with all the time in the world, the full-speed train that is our lives slowing to a crawl. Bound by no obligations, barred by no human limitations. To speak without regret or fear of consequence. To talk for hours end about what’s really important in life."

It was a cold Sunday evening, and I prepared the two packs of cappuccino a friend gave me from Indonesia. I suggested we talk on our shabby rooftop. The night was chilling as I covered my head with my black hoodie sweater. My friend settled herself on the hammock, in awe of the expanse and the night air surrounding us. I could only wish for one thing, the moonlight hovering over us.

I couldn't contain my excitement. Although this wasn't a happy conversation, nor an intellectual one, but I always long for our kind of talk, the kind where the subtext doesn't need to be articulated, the kind where we happily agree to disagree, and the kind where I can just wholeheartedly speak what's on my mind. Tonight was all about relationships... and life.

"Sometimes I succumb to my wild imagination. I have already created a vivid fantasy of me and him having our lives together. I might as well be in Antarctica right now having his baby. It feels so damn good, and I can't shake this off. I need to stop digging this hole for myself. Please would you help me un-dig?"

"I can just imagine you trying to sleep and fantasizing about you and him as a couple. It's addicting."

"So addicting. It makes me feel all giddy inside. And then that awkward moment comes when you realize that what you're doing is just really sad." 

"(laughing hysterically. okay not hysterically) I'll let you in on a secret. I do that too you know. We're no different. I, too, am a big fan of idiotic fantasies. Although I must applaud you about being pregnant in Antarctica. When I was getting over fuckface, I kept holding on to the image of you know who. It feels pathetic. I thought I wasn't capable of compartmentalization. But somehow knowing that someone this great existed helped me get over thy fuckface. There's someone out there. Right, universe?"

"So what do you want? Are we looking for a friend of your mind again?"

"Of course."

"Lately, I just realized how different people are. But somehow I feel fortunate for knowing what I want. We do know what we want. We have just gotten so comfortable making 'not knowing what we want' an excuse for not going after our dreams. I know of someone who doesn't really know what she wants. I see her everyday walking home from work. Sometimes she's out doing her grocery. She goes home same way I see her around the neighborhood. She goes to work and does the same thing all over again. I think that's an example of a person who doesn't know what she wants."

"Wow, way to go! You've made-up a poetic story of a girl you don't even know. But yeah, I agree. Sometimes it's just easier to say we don't know what we want."

"This coffee does taste like chocolate."