skymonkeys.

It's been weeks, or 2 hours ago, if you believe how my endorphins are still racing adrenaline every time I remember it.

I could almost snuff out those people down there between my dangling toes. They were scurrying like ants, and I, I was omnipotent. The city was beautiful, it's twinkling lights laughing (at?) with me like urban faeries, it's dark distant shapes mysterious, organic, twisting.

There it was, truly panoramic with no hideous load of bricks to shroud it, more to see then I probably deserved. It belies the size of this island, but it's all perception, no? And right there, my perception was being blown to pieces. The world did curve around me and hug me snugly in place. How did the old folk with their uninterrupted view of the world not see what I'm seeing, and think it flat? It's like spinning in a circle until you collapse in on yourself in a clumsy silly embrace.

Have you felt the high, cold winds tease your heated, tired soles? I have. It eases the ties life has over you, flooding you with so much rushing joy that burdens and rotten memories are like the clothes gently rippling in the wind on your back, hardly substantial against it.

The wind, the air, bloody hell, even you are different up there. The best damn version there ever was. The fear-sweat from your clammy hands dry in that wind and doesn't quite return with the full respect for heights you know is due. You wonder, why's your face feel so sore? You turn to your friend, and see the answering, proud grin. Here's my secret place, his says, welcome. That twines with the galloping thrills, that lingering thread of fear, and your own grin, grin, grin.

The clambering, edging past steep drops, ducking out of sight, doesn't pound your heart as hard as you backtrack, because you did leave a little of it behind.

Later, much later, you might notice the gritty grime under your now-scrappier nails, the stains on your nice clothes, a long, interesting streak down one calf that looks suspiciously like old pigeon poo. But for now, you're wild-haired and bushy-tailed, and when you come home your mother glances at you and almost starts, it's because your eyes are shining electric and more alive then they've been for months and months.


Twenty-two heady storeys and you, my bold, chimney-topped friend. It's awesome, you're too awesome, we're going back. :)