Sometimes I cant tell where the buildings stop being clouds and where the black sky drops its soft feet on rooftops. Its full of lights, the star-spangled, indigo canvas of the heavens. Every single twinkling star, up there so far above my head, is thousands and thousands of years old, and I remind myself that Im gazing into the past. Theyre coming to guide us through the cosmos, from a time before there were people and buildings and cars on this little lonely blue ball. Its a humbling thought.

The wind rustles and my hair stirs softly over my face. I think about all the millions of people on this side of the world, and wonder how many of them are seeing and thinking what I am. Somewhere I dont think its very many. The only time you can really think, really exist, like this is when youre so far from anyone who might be doing the same thing.

 

 

 

 

Heya,

I wrote this a while ago and it's one of those scraps of writing that seem to collect over time in various places and never really go anywhere. I really do like it though, even though it's so short, and I'd like to turn it something more developed (I'm thinking a few thousand words or so). Problem is, I'm not exactly sure where I'm wanting it to go, what the themes will be, anything about the plot and characters, stuff like that - so I was wondering if you guys would give me a hand, read it, and let me know if it puts you in mind of anything? Just words or phrases will do, or more if anything particular springs to mind. Are there any themes you could see being developed through this?

 

 

Really it could be anything. It would fit in to just about any piece of realist literature. Isolation and the importance of the self are themes that pop up a lot and there are hints of that here.