This is a quick note I wrote last week, while I was wondering the thin line in between exhaustion and madness.

She sat on the rooftop of the twenty-four story high central London tower. She contemplated if the sea of lights below her is a worthy trade of for lack of stars above her.

Lost Without Stars

She remembered the densely speckled blackness she saw every night form her parents farm in middle of the countryside. How stories and myths sprang form between the connected dots.

Now she was on the pinnacle of what people around here call success. Enjoying a satisfying creative high paying job. Surrounded by group of influential friends to share this gained joy with.

But she knew she lost freedom.

She loved the city, the streets that reminded her of veins in her body. The tall buildings that shared walls. The architectural mix, a wonderful feast for the eyes.

And yet she knew the city somehow trapped her.

So every now and then she came to the rooftop and looked at the sea of lights, wondered about the stars.

She knew that at some point it would come to a decision – to flee or to fly.