18th Floor Balcony

I never liked heights.

It's true. I'm afraid of heights, Mikey. I never told you that before. But you probably knew anyway. You probably noticed when I never wanted to go stand on the eighteenth floor hotel balcony with you, just taking in the sights. I was never in the mood. So you just opened the door to let the breeze in and stood in the doorway, staring out at the skyline. I always wanted to come with you, to stand close to you and let you wrap your arms around me and tell me it's okay, you wouldn't let me fall, but every time I took a step, I thought of that long fall down. How long would it take me to hit the ground, do you think? Would I feel it, or would I just die? And what of the falling? Would all be resolved in that one motion downwards, or would my last feelings of life be terror and betrayal - because you let me fall?

That's what I always thought about when I saw you standing there in the doorway, at some time when the sun was barely below the horizon. You liked to watch it set or rise, it didn't matter which. Because look at how beautiful the skyline is. I could see it from the room, of course. It was beautiful. But so were you, and I was slightly afraid of you too.

I mean, look at you, Mike. The way your hair moved just slightly in the wind, the way the dim light of early night or early morning made your eyes shine that gorgeous icy blue, the way you stood there so relaxed in the doorway, waiting for me to come to the edge with you. You always waited for me. You were always so patient. I loved that about you, that you could wait. Maybe that's another reason why I didn't come. Maybe I liked to know that you would wait for me.

I was so stupid.

You didn't always wait for me, Mike. You moved on, got married, had a child. I had two. But that didn't change anything when we were alone. We could always talk like before when we were alone. Talk like we've always said we love each other, even though we never have. Talk like we've never been married, never had kids. And in our minds, we hoped one of us would say it someday. Just to get it out. And we imagined that when we said it at last, a simple "I know," would be enough, with a smile to say, "It's okay. I love you too." And then we'd fall back into each other and rest and pretend there's no one else in the world. Just us. Nothing physical, just love and contentment while we wait for the sun to rise or to set. It would be perfect. We knew that.

I finally told you last night, Mikey. I told you how I felt, in just three simple words. I didn't tell you that I've probably loved you since the moment I met you or that you're the most important thing in the world to me or that I'd give up anything just to see you happy, though those are probably true. But I said, "I love you."

And you looked at me, and you smiled, and you said, "I love you too, Billie."

That moment didn't change my life. No, my life will be the same once we leave this hotel again. I'll go home, and I'll hug my children, and I'll kiss my wife, and I'll go to band practice, and we'll tease our drummer like we always do, and everything will be normal. But we'll know. We'll know what we feel, and we'll know what can happen these nights on tour, when we get a hotel room to ourselves, just you and me, Mikey. We'll be best friends, and we'll be in love, and it will be just as perfect as the sight of you standing in that doorway to watch the sunset.

We slept in the same bed last night. Nothing happened, of course. You kissed me, and it was beautiful, but beyond that, it was enough to feel your arms around me, to feel your steady and reliable heartbeat in my ear. I guess it was enough for you too. You never tried anything with me, anyway, besides that beautiful, perfect kiss. It's a good thing to know that we never need anything else. It's just love, after all.

And then I saw you standing there again, just standing in the doorway, hugging yourself for warmth against the morning chill. You didn't even wake me up to ask me to come this time, to stand with you on the balcony. But I woke up anyway. Because I could feel you move. And I looked up, and there you were, with the wind blowing your hair, just watching the sun rise. I wanted to go to you, but then I thought of the long fall down. What if I fell? What if...

But you'd never let me fall, would you, Mikey? You'd never let me take that plunge. You'd hold onto me tight and never let go, and I'd feel safe in your arms forever. For however long it took someone to come find us. But however long that was, I'd be safe, and it would feel enough like forever to make us both content.

So I finally stood, Mike. I finally rose from that hotel bed and took those tentative steps over to that doorway where you stood, and I saw the way the morning light made your eyes shine, and I offered you a smile and touched your arm softly. And you smiled at me and wrapped that strong arm around me protectively, and together, we stepped onto the balcony, eighteen floors above the ground. We looked out over the people of the city together, all oblivious to our presence, all going about their lives like we would have to do some day soon. And we finally looked up to the skyline, with its bright colours and its lazy clouds and steadily increasing light. We looked out together, Mikey, just you and me. You protected me from everything as we looked out to the morning skies from that balcony on the eighteenth floor.

And I didn't feel afraid.