All lights of the spectrum dotted the horizon in front of him, and winds blew, causing him to constantly clasp at his elbows, yet he wouldn't move a muscle because he loved it. The quietness of standing at the balcony, watching the city late at night, was peaceful. He cherished the view of the city, with its contrasting vibrant daytime and lively nighttime atmosphere, albeit with a subdued shyness that kept everything indoors. As a result, the streets remained empty. He often wondered if, in another dimension of nocturnal being, the streets were used while this dimension slept. His mind frequently wandered in such a manner, and it would go on for hours. On nights with significant blackouts, he would have the sky for company, mirroring the dotted lights of the city with more magnificence and on a much grander scale. Either way, no nights on the balcony were ever wasted.
"Arthur, you'll need this," someone spoke, breaking his reverie. He turned to see Blake handing him a jacket. For a moment, he had forgotten he lived with someone in his apartment. They had been friends since high school, but time had taken its toll on their friendship, and they had spent seven years apart before recently reconnecting.
"Thank you, I didn't even know I needed it," Arthur said.
"I've only been here a week, but I notice you always spend hours on the balcony," Blake replied.
"Force of habit," Arthur quickly responded.
"Yeah, I remember," Blake quipped. "What do you remember?"
"How many times you were reprimanded at school for staring out the window during class hours," Blake said.
"Oh... that," Arthur replied dismissively.
"You've always been that person," Blake continued.
"I didn't think anyone noticed," Arthur admitted.
"Well, they did," Blake reiterated. "I guess it's not always a good thing," Arthur conceded.
"No, not at all," Blake quickly responded, pointing to the jacket Arthur had placed on the chair's arm. Arthur put it on.
"You're imaginative and introspective; the classroom was a confinement. You were meant for the library, not the class," Blake explained as he sat in a chair next to Arthur.
Blake continued, "All I see is the banal sky and dotted lights. After five minutes, I would probably not stand it anymore. But I'm certain it's more for you."
"Yeah," Arthur admitted, repositioning himself in the sisal-woven chair for comfort. He began to explain, "You see those dotted lights in the city? They all have a story because they're lit to continue a story that happens during the day. They represent a sort of resilience for whoever uses that light to continue their story until they feel it's okay to sleep and switch it off. Some leave it on because they believe in the protective properties of light. Light is subconsciously regarded as something righteous, so we make lights our defiance to darkness—that we could only leave when we're done, not when darkness dictates. So, I imagine every story behind the light."
Blake was dumbfounded but managed to ask, "Then the sky?"
"Every star has a story more profound than anything we've ever known. How far the star is, how old it is, how far the light has traveled to reach us, and the places it's seen—I see it as a traveler, ready to tell me all the places it's been," Arthur replied.
"I guess that's what they call a rich inner life," Blake concluded.
"Who calls it that?" Arthur asked.
"You don't, because you don't know what you have. And it's special," Blake said.
