#rooftop
All I want
is to sit on a rooftop
and gaze at the sunset
with someone I can speak to as I speak to myself.
Feb 18
Feb 18, 2026 at 6:00 PM UTC
The world lies serene from up here,
bright blinding lights
seem dim,
people like insects, crawling
insects like dust, clinging
and scuttling to their dark corners.
A place above all
where I can forget.
As I watch my feet swing
over the edge,
I'm not scared nor sad,
not thrilled either,
Just am.
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 4:16 PM UTC
(A Christmas vacation vignette)
Lisa and I choppered onto Manhattan island yesterday morning. We’d both felt toasted—so we took naps—and yay! We awoke recharged.
Later that evening, Lisa and I were at the ‘Elsie’ Rooftop Bar, in Manhattan, waiting for Lisa’s boyfriend, David.
Ok, man-friend? More age appropriate I suppose, he’s 27, but that description doesn’t have the same bf slap.
Dave’s a Wall Street M&A guy and they’ve been together for over a year - a future for them seems very real.
Slinky, jazz-like versions of secular Christmas favorites were playing somewhere and it’s a groove I slipped into immediately. We had reservations and I’d misbegottenly hoped for a five-star, breathtaking city view, but the indoor tables turned out to have these uncomfortable, high-backed, bench-like seats that face away from the windows—WTF? I made a mental note to check website pix in the future. The place is in need of some serious feng shui-ing.
Disappointed, I asked for a side table where there was, at least, a pitiable skyline view and I placed my iPad, volume down, on the table so I could side-watch the Thursday Night football game—hey, I’m not meeting MY boyfriend, ok? As the official third-wheel, I figured I’d need a little entertainment.
After a few moments, a waitress came by and she paused to look us over with a cat-like indifference that signaled she was better than me, better than us really. She was just cooler.
I was delighted—why am I drawn to people who look down on me?
I suppose I need years of psychoanalysis—but who’s got the time?
I glanced at Lisa. We know each other at a cellular level. With a milli-second of lash flutterings and eye dilations, I asked “are you getting this?” And she affirmed that she was. Because we’re cyborgs. A couple of cyborgs.
Just kidding. We’re not cyborgs, neither of us. We wish we were sometimes—think of the advantages, you could complete college in a blink—wirelessly.
Anyway, back to the narrative. The waitress reminded me of when I was starting high school and my mom and I toured colleges, how snooty the Harvard people were, even though I’d been accepted and offered a free-ride scholarship—I mean, shouldn’t we all have been one, big, self-congratulatory snooty-group together?
(Of course, I chose Yale because the people were totally friendly).
“I better get used to it,” I side-bar’d Lisa, who got the reference to my upcoming, year-long, master's program at Harvard—because we’re cyborgs. I handed ‘Laura’ (our snooty waitress was tagged) my Black American Express card, which got her attention, and said, “start a tab please—someone will join us—run a 40% tip too,” I added with a smile. She practically jogged off to get our drinks and hors d'oeuvres and I turned my attention to the game, you know, to catch up.
I love Pro football—it’s not really fall without football—is it? Even though Tom Brady retired. This all goes to say that I’m a pro football ****** Lisa likes it too, though she’s not totally obsessed.
Just after Laura brought us our martinis and ‘poached lobster’ slides, a random, well-dressed man (he was wearing an expensive Brioni, wool linen silk suit), 35-ish, receding mousy-brown hairline, high-ball glass in hand, took the opportunity to stop by and chat. “SO,” he said, in a deep, jolly, ice-breaking salesman’s voice,
“You girls like football?”
I decided that the suit was too shiny for a Brioni—was it a Zegna?—I idly wondered.
“We’ve boyfriends,” Lisa announced, almost apologetically, nodding to include me—in case he missed the plural. Undeterred, he swiveled my way—as if he needed a second opinion—and asked me,
“What do you like about football?” He sounded somewhat condescending to me, so I did what I always do with condescending males—I played the ‘ditzy-girl’ card, “The costumes,” I answered.
“The uniforms,” he gently, fatherly, corrected—before rocking back a little on his heels and sipping his drink.
“And the hats,” I updogged, but before he could digest my reply, David, Lisa’s man-friend, arrived on the scene.
“Sorry to be so late,” he said, giving me a little, jiggly, 4-finger wave, shedding his coat and giving Lisa a smooch on the top of her hair.
The salesman wordlessly took his leave.
It’s a night on the town—let the 3rd-wheeling begin!
.
.
Songs for this:
Diamond Dave by The Bird and the Bee
You Belong to Me by Vonda Shepard
.
.
And a Christmas Playlist - because the big day is 8 days away!
http://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_24.mp3
Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 2:00 PM UTC
Lisa and I had a party to hit-up. I can’t stay inside all the time, not on a Friday night anyway and a rooftop is the perfect place to mull over big questions and get the freshest commentary about cultural phenoms - intermixed with music, absotively.
There were several, large, coolers crammed with canned martinis - everything from little Tip-Tops to Tiki-Rum Mai-Tais and Triple-Spice Margaritas - this is a partizzle. I wasn’t out to drown my romantic sorrows, but I quickly reached fuzzy and relaxed - which is where I wanted to go.
A massive thumping began, ‘Pitbull’ began spilling from the speakers (‘la la la la’) and the crowd of about 30 reacted in a kind of whooping, group seizure. Lisa clutched my arm wanting me to ‘drop it’ on the dance floor - I could only read her lips - “Come ON,” she pantomimed, and I was ready to make that commitment.
We’re here at Melon’s invitation (a Yale PhD friend), undergraduates don’t usually hang out with graduate students, so it was special to feel welcomed at this off-campus link-up. We’re on the third-floor roof of an office building, under the stars.
The setup reminded me of a Brooklyn warehouse rave Lisa once dragged me to. Multicolored lights, strung every which way overhead, provided a festive air and a round stone fire-pit provided both heat and a light that flickered against every walled surface, evoking something cave-like, deep and primitive - a genetic, stone-age, memory perhaps.
When the beats finally let up, we’d danced-out about 10 songs. Lisa and I sagged into our lawn chairs - fanning ourselves even though it was a cool evening. Between tracks, there was a murmur of in-town traffic and people passing below, forming the undifferentiated buzz of nightlife. “I’m starving,” I told Lisa, who nodded, “Me too - poor planning,” she updogged.
Right then, Melon came over. Melon (real name Milton) is 6’3 and maybe 450lbs. He reminds me of John Candy, with his blonde hair, ever-present smile and colorful Hawaiian shirts.
“You’re giggin,” he said, Mai-Tai in one hand and a lady in the other.
“Thanks for inviting us,” I said, with a nod, “this is nice,” indicating the roof setup.
“Yea,” he agreed, looking around and waving his drink, in greetings, to arriving people.
“I have something for you!” I told Melon, pulling a small bottle of cologne out of my bag.
“Oh, my God,” he said, lighting up like a Christmas tree, “Tobacco Vanille! You shouldn’t have.”
“You said that’s your favorite, ya?” “Yeah, but..” he began.
“You helped us move in,” I said, “It’s a thank you - from all the girls (I lied) and it’s our party gift!”
“Wow, well, thanks Peaches,” he said, adding “you’re cracked,” and gave me a one handed hug.
“Food’s on the way” he said, and then, like he’d forgotten something, “This is Ellen,” he said, turning so she rotated closer.” We only shook hands and nodded, because the music started again.
Not two minutes later, the metal door to the stairs swung open and several guys came up with catering trays of life-saving Tex-Mex from ‘Tacos Los Gordos,’ a couple of blocks away.
“Maybe there IS a God,” I pronounced, unheard in the din, my stomach growling in anticipation.
slang…
hit-up = attend
absotively = absolutely & positively
partizzle = party
giggin = having fun, dancing
updogged = adding a further comment to a comment string.
peaches = Melon calls me peaches ‘cause I’m from Georgia.
cracked = crazy*
Nov 11, 2023
Nov 11, 2023 at 10:57 PM UTC
I've sat on countless rooftops with dozens of people staring blankly at stars urging them to teach me something
Despite my pleas it's impossible for them to predict whether or not our little impact will render in this world
And still I haven't been able to understand why my very existence does or does not matter until tonight
On roof tops surrounded by great friends who wouldn't be here without the help of the stars aligning perfectly
The answer seems simple
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
While rain pours down on the rooftop,
I finally feel calm
and
it's terrifying
Apr 29, 2020
Apr 29, 2020 at 5:02 PM UTC
The sound of drizzle on the rooftops brings back memories.
Memories of the years
that leave a few tears
beneath your eyes.
Sometimes it is astonishing
when you realize
how quickly time flies.
It takes you on a roller coaster ride
over the sharp edges of life.
Along the way you experience precious moments
that make you appreciate life.
Some moments of laughter,
some moments of tears and
some spent in melancholic thoughts.
These moments often transform into memories.
Memories of the times you spent,
the faces you saw
and the battles you fought.
When you hear the sound of raindrops
drizzling on the rooftop.
Sometimes it brings back memories.
Memories of those years
that often leave a few tears behind.
After all, what are we without these memories?
Mere mortals made of space dust and mundane miseries.
We go through life, dealing with both loss and gain.
All those transactions can't be repeated,
but the memories will always remain.
So rain, fall harder tonight
and bring back those memories.
Memories of the moments
that provide us an escape
from a life of mundane miseries.
Feb 12, 2020
Feb 12, 2020 at 10:51 AM UTC
It’s where we smoked our cigarettes
because we were already living for way too long
but we never jumped of the roof
we only let the smoke
burn our lungs from inside out
and wanted death to come closer slowly.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 5:12 PM UTC
Time has passed since her body gave up the fight. I still visit her grave and yearn for her sight.
I remember her whisper, soon my soul will take flight.
Among all the stars that burn the brightest of white.
So I stand on my rooftop each and every night. Searching for her essence among the twinkling lights.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
And how do you tell them you feel so empty without making it sound so sad?
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 9:51 AM UTC
And every night my love,
I watch you from my window,
Sitting on your rooftop,
And staring at the moon,
Like there's a piece of your heart,
Hidden in it's shadow.
I see it all love,
The way you look at the moon,
Like it's the only place for you,
Away from this chaotic world,
Where you can put your guard down
And throw away your mask.
I watch it every night love,
Your face.
Your face honey, draped in the
curtain of moonlight,
Oh, it mesmerises me,
And the beauty of your eyes,
With the moon's reflection in it,
My love,it leaves me spellbound.
I see it all love,
The way your eyes glimmer sometimes,
And the curve that forms on your face
talking to the moon.
And sometimes,I even see the shinning pearls cascading down your cheeks,
As the cigarette touches your lips.
It's like watching the moon
And talking to it gives you peace,
While looking at your face,
gives me serenity.
I wish someday I could watch the
moon with you and you would watch
the dawn with me,
I wish someday I could rewrite the stars,
And make you mine.
-Neha
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
Just you and I on this Charm rooftop.
The bass from the party make the ceiling rock.
We hand in hand got my stomach in knots.
The soul of the city’s in the backdrop.
Cool autumn night but **** it’s hot.
Dreaming of the world beyond these blocks.
You claiming this time you just can’t be stopped.
Why you wanna escape so bad?
I remember summer ‘01 when you tried to run.
Summer ‘02 all those plans fell through.
Summer ‘03 you came back to me,
Saying “The longer I stay the more I struggle to breathe.”
Maybe it’s the lights, they not bright enough.
Feelin’ like you locked down, got you handcuffed.
Try to prove to everyone you’re tough.
Girl I know you so exhausted and you fed up.
Midnight eyes staring right at me.
Asking so softly “What do you see?”
The words are there and yet I freeze.
Still hand in hand so tighter I squeeze.
Gazing out at the concrete trees
While your mind’s racing from the possibilities.
I can’t promise your dreams or give guarantees
But you’ll always be safe on this roof with me.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
Somewhere in a distant twilight
You can find me on a rooftop
Perched like a bird without a home
Although I won't be singing
Instead, just reminiscing
Conversations in your bedroom
Those nights have come to pass
Now he fills that space beside you
Hope at last defines you
Nicotine whispers to my brain
As I resist the thought of your name
In cold moonlight I remain
Mind led back to distant days
My masonry perch becomes so lonesome
Twinkling stars my only console
In this dark, I do not sing
For my heart only beats when reminiscing
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
At the rooftop sitting,
My mind keeps on wondering.
Sun has set minutes ago,
But everything seems so slow.
As the wind touches my skin,
The feeling of sadness comes crashing in.
All I see is darkness,
Making everything look heartless.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 5:39 AM UTC
Have you ever noticed just how boring your life can be?
I sit here alone with no one to the side of me.
I can't go outside cause the world may start spinning.
I don't mean the way Galileo said in the beginning.
I'm feeling quite helpless and wanting to leave
To experience nature, and all of its trees.
I sit on my roof and look out into space
And think of the things that could make my life great.
Some think I'm dumb and have nothing to ponder,
But my ideas and poems have so much to offer.
I'm scared that my life might not become much
Or when I get old, my friends won't stay in touch.
There's so much to think about and so much to do.
I'm feeling quite lost now
What should I do?
My brain overflowing,
My stomach in knots,
Just How should I handle all of these thoughts?
I write them all down, and I put them in poems,
But it's just not enough to forget or forgo them.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 7:37 PM UTC
Water starts to drop
Falling in our own rooftop
How long it will be?
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC
There is a place i go to hide
There is a place where i wished i had died
There is a place somehwere near
Where i have often gone and cried
This place i tried to share
But no one seemed to care
To me it was magical
Buf i didn't really dare
To hope that they could see
Because this place encompassed me
And wasnt about them
It was where i had come to be
To be who i am now
Its where i found
Out who i truly was
Its where my heart was bound
I went there often
I havent been back
I miss it
That beautiful rooftop
Where i would sit
And cry
Or wish i could die
Or think about suicide
Or where i would go
When there was no one home
And i could sit and think
I miss my rooftop
It was my place.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
The rooftop setting is all I could ever ask for
It is way more romantic than the sunsets in the shore
You can both watch the stars twinkle and the city lights glow
While you can hear busy chats of the people as the car honks from below
The breeze that makes your body quiver,
Has also caused your dear lips to wither,
Which gave him a hint to wrap you around his arms,
And to carefully kiss you with no possible harm
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
Last week I got an urge to lay on a rooftop, and drink ***** under the stars,
so I packed an empty backpack with svedka, a notebook, and a cellphone; and went on a mission.
I spent an afternoon looking around.
Taking notes on how in the hell, I could get up to a place that was flat, a roof, and could see the stars.
As it turns out,
the rooftops are not a place Freeport wants you to be.
in fact, one staircase directly leading to the top of a building specifically said
"No Trespassing"
Keeping me out with a locked metal door.
so I kept adventuring.
It did not occur to me until after I had already spent quite awhile scribbling down notes on locations of
milk crates I could use,
ledges low enough to grab,
dumpsters I could maybe move over just a bit,
how illegal it may be,
(I'M still not sure)
Or how dangerous it may be
(probably quite very)
To go on this adventure.
I texted a beautiful girl and asked if she wanted to drink ***** under the stars.
being the suave romantic that I am,
Having spent my whole morning surveying different routes to the rooftops.
Having planned out such a storybook evening, obviously her answer was,
"nah, I'd rather stay home, smoke **** and watch the new season of Orange is the new black."
********* Ruby Rose...
Stop. stealing. my dates.
After introducing myself to a handful of other potential candidates, I finally find a woman who believes climbing onto a rooftop and drinking ***** would be a swell time.
By the time I pick her up and get back to the spot,
it's late enough that Freeport is a ghost town.
We run down the middle of the street, me dragging her, doctor and companion style towards the first flawless plan:
Milkcrates behind linda beans.
We stack them up like steps and walk up to the top of a metal ceiling
Affixed perfectly above a flight of stairs that leads to the top floor.
I thought, "maybe we could climb the metal ceiling like a ramp."
it turns out
that not only is it
incredibly difficult not to
fall off of a slanted flimsy ramp
with no handles. But it is also: Terrifying!
Eventually I make it to the top and realize:
**** There is still a tall ledge I have to hoist myself onto"
I look down to the short brunette quivering
on the ramp's lowest tier and decide that there is no way either of us were going to make it.
"Hey rose, " (That wasn't her real name)
Let's try a different way up.
attempting to crawl down slowly,
my **** scoots forward, hands behind me,
I slip and start gliding down like a children's slide.
flailing and attempting to catch myself before
falling off the edge and plummeting onto a dumpster.
(Whistling noises)
Thud!
She screams.
I laugh uncontrollably.
She slowly descends our statuesque landmark milkcrate staircase.
Like an angel coming from ghetto heaven.
I lift myself up and hop down off the dumpster.
putting my backpack down,
I check to see if the ***** bottle is okay.
It's fine.
"Good job, *******
"We're fine."
"You're an idiot."
"I could have died, don't I at least get a kiss or something?"
She gives me a disapproving look, then kisses me.
eventually we did
make it up to a rooftop,
Where we laid and watched the stars.
They were warm, distant, and beautiful.
I liked feeling their glow on my skin.
But I loved taking the journey to meet them.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
I didn't hold tendons between my fingers like
street boys on rain city rooftops,
crumpling their futures up to smash into shredded jeans,
shredded hearts,
some wrappers escaping, flying over this city
as our neglectful witnesses.
Their hands were broken bottles. The black top
made my guts look like escaping snakes,
my eyes hoping to be Medusa.
Fictionalizing gets me through most things.
Sometimes pain tastes like metal, sometimes like cherries.
I stare at the sideways sunset, a wrapper spit up
and drying out, a pipe dream promise;
reviewing my time strips as if they'd had a spelling change,
recounting every drop of blood word and smile.
Sometimes I forget that I'm real.
Sometimes I'm not.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
Shake the sighs from your pillow
and tuck in your dreams
Wring out regret
rip the past from the seams
Take a deep breath
tilt your face to the rain
The soothing sound of drumming drops
will draw away the pain
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
The sun hung low,
sliding down below
the trees,
whose leaves had turned a golden yellow
from autumn's adoring
kiss.
The clouds looked gray,
seeming to bring in
thunderstorms
that weren't to come,
at least not today.
We spoke of
mysteries,
created poetry in our
realizations,
harmony fostered with the gentle
breeze
as we laughed.
The aha's and uhuh's,
the self-discovery and
conceptualization,
they were the sermons,
the creed,
the metanoia.
The rooftop sunset was
the sanctuary,
the gust of wind the hymns,
the moments of silence were
moments of reverence,
our spirituality
birthed in the
gravel
under
our feet.
The world is
our religion.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC