Wesley writes:
I go up to the roof of my building when I need to center myself or prepare for some big event. Sometimes I go up there just to think about things. I go up there with my really old mp3 player and look out at my neighborhood. At night it looks completely different. Up there, with all the lights on it looks more grand and peaceful than it ever seems to me on the street. Even in the summer when it’s ridiculously hot and gross, it’s always cool up there and there always seems to be a breeze.
I go up there to be alone, when I need to do things that are private. I practice martial arts up there. I listen to music. I preach sermons. Sometimes I just sit. It’s like my fortress of solitude. It’s strange to me how incredibly open and public it is, while at the same time so private and secluded. On the one hand, anyone could see me if they bothered to look up. But on the other hand, nobody ever does. I can be loud or quiet and nobody would ever know the difference.
It feels like I’m hovering above the world, rather than simply finding a corner of it to hide in. I’ve never put it that way before.
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