Hospital Crowns and the Most Beautiful Sunrise I Have Ever Seen

Once, when I was in elementary school, there was an incident with my shoe being thrown onto the rooftop of a building that no longer exists that was close to my school.  A friend climbed up to retrieve it.  As we laughed and as he tried to find the shoe (me on the ground pointing to where I thought it was thrown, him on the roof running back and forth following my finger) a police car pulled up. They told us that a rooftop alarm had been set off and what were we doing there.

Because of this incident, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, started a belief that all rooftops of all buildings that are not homes (or not the homes of rich people), have weight-triggered alarms on them. I had always figured, "Well...this may or may not be true."

This morning, however,  I woke up on the rooftop of a hospital. There were no alarms. There were no police.  There was only the expanse of sky from a vantage point I have never seen in my life.

My companion, who works at the hospital and thus has access to such things, had gotten me to this level rooftop. We had set up two little tents (one for me; one for my companion). We had a yawning conversation about the difference between people who love as a verb (a messy but glorious garden) and people who love linearly (forward motion as mandate; the thinness of bright screen communication in replacement of hand in hand, eye to eye deep and reals*) -  but we quickly fell asleep in our respective tents. It was already so dark out. I fell asleep thinking of a conversation I had heard recently about love I have always related to.  How it does not start perfect and clean and beautiful. How two messy people meet and they work together to make something imperfect and smudged and undeniably, glowingly beautiful.  Yes.  I've always pictured both people as Pigpen from the Peanuts cartoons but with additional spaghetti in their (our) hair, holding onto each other and figuring out how to create the best and most beautiful love.

This is the love I love.

Yes.

In the morning, a few declarative bird chirps and the slow lift of the darkened sky's veil began to stir me. I pushed my head through the tent flaps, and could feel the barely beginning light reflect off of my eyes.  The sky's slow, deep and pungent colors.

I scooted out of the tent and sat there silently thinking about life at present. Sitting alone on the rooftop of that hospital watching the light and sky, the beginning growls of morning traffic crunching below me, I could feel the sharp electricity of potential and the hands of a thousand histories running up and down my arms.


be well; be loved,

k.
(image:  Tytus Szabelski via untrust you tumblr)
(*= "Deep and reals"= conversations of the heart that matter. This was a term learn from Luce, which I carry with me to this day. Thank you, Luce!)