So we sit on this roof, above the only lives we've ever known.

And we talk.

We talk and talk, 

as if the words

spilling out of our alcohol-tainted mouths

and into the cold, dark, nighttime air

actually have any significance to the world.

The universe above us is still,

waiting to see if we'll stay here for eternity

and keep it company 

with our carelessly strung-together

yet momentous words

like we so gladly would if it was possible.

But they say all good things come to an end.

However when this moment reaches its extremity

I just can't see myself 

letting go.