Me and My Terrace

Only a floor away from my home my terrace welcomes me every night with its half tattered door, darkness and some faint starlit chipped tiles. It's the place I love being in. It's the place where the most remarkable ideas have struck me. It's where I make all the important decisions of my life after consulting the Moon or the million stars. *Hides face partially in shame*
I can spend hours on my terrace, in the dark, just listening to some music - music that I carry on my phone - thinking - thinking about everything that makes me think, EVERYthing - or talking - talking over the phone or to myself. *Hides face in shame again*
I enjoy walking up and down the terrace seeing who's walking on the roads, what's happening in the buildings facing me, who's spending time solitary like me on their terraces. Then I walk some more and think about the day, think about all the jokes that were cracked, laugh stealthily making sure no one's watching me. Then I walk some more and think about all the things that went wrong, all the times I wished I could erase from every one's memories to whom it mattered. And, then I just wish, wish for all the things that should have happened but never did. Some of the wishes I know would never materialise. I'm sure my wallet won't be graced by some magical charm and have unlimited reserves of money in it, and a million more impractical wishes. *sigh*
My terrace is also the place where I go when I have no one to talk to. In all the solitude, I find company there. Company that doesn't talk, just listens. No, I'm not demented. I just find comfort in inanimate objects. What to do, I am like that only!
Anyway, I have been bullied into mentioning the one who inspired this post. So, here I go. Thanks Lyandra, for all the support and courage you always offer me in all ventures of my life, this one being no different.