She is teetering at the edge, experimenting with shifting her weight on her feet, first on the left foot, then on the right, experimenting with balancing herself on one leg, then the other. For a terrifying moment a gust of wind took up the scarf she was wearing on her neck with such a force that it tugged at her skin - her equilibrium swayed slightly, she shut her eyes tight and tried to imagine her feet planted firmly on the building, the building planted firmly on the ground. The scarf gathered itself and followed the wind away, fluttering, flowing, falling gently into its new destiny.

From where she stood she thought she could recognize familiar faces from the sea of people down below, those unseeing people who were preoccupied with the tasks they had to accomplish for that day, their steps forwards towards their predetermined purposes, their making of meaning in the world.

She thought she could see her oldest friends, those who stayed only for awhile and then moved on, but who she never forgot. She thought she could see all the boys she ever loved, making their spaces too. Their lives were once intertwined, two spheres merging into one - and in time they had to drift apart and, willfully, detach, and along the line with the spaces and the years and the people that come in between... it gets harder to recognize that at one point they had shared the same space, written together the same memories of the past and the future. Such is the way we collide in our orbits , stars and pilgrims in search of a way home. Occasionally we find spillovers, little comets that pass us by and in the nostalgia that must follow we find reminders. We immediately remember frames of moments , images recorded like still sketches: a song, a smell, a touch, a mood, the atmosphere reflected in the conversation and laughter tears of others reflected in the dreams we were describing reflected in a reminder of ourselves where we were whether we were hopeful had dreams whether we were in love recently discovered what we mean.

She wished she could have kept her friends. She wished she could have kept so much more than only the little trinkets she embalmed, emblazoned in its construction and reconstruction through the years, more beyond the bridges she had decided, once, to burn. She wished some things would have been kept safely in a safebox, under lock and key, precious treasures preserved, until such a time as she would realize their worth.