Stars for the Ocean

I sit on my roof at night. My petty little condo roof, from a window inside my bedroom, usually at night. Lucky me, I get to stare out at all the cement and houses and lights, similar to those that are all around the world. Then I look up. I have a perfect vision of stars and sky. It occurred to me that I really do wish that the whole world was night sky. An endless proportion of beauty. I'd much rather be engulfed in stars and space, falling, than in a stupid artificial world.
When I see sky, I'm not distracted by lights or trucks or houses. I'm distracted by how much empty space there is that we, luckily, haven't filled yet. The stars and moon are all I need. But why so beautiful? How can meaningless little lights and blackness in the sky be so wondrous? Aren't you supposed to feel small when in comparison? I don't. I feel free. Free to think whatever I want about the world. Free to feel whatever I want. And I feel good.
I went skydiving during night once. It was under a bridge that was built over the ocean. As soon as I walked over that edge, I felt relief. I decided that, instead of adrenaline or fear, I was going to think about love and beautiful things, just in case that if the chord snapped, I'd die thinking of something worth it. Looking down at the ocean water, I saw the reflection of tiny stars and even the moon. I was falling through what looked like space...and it was a high. A high no drug could ever give me.
When it ended, I cried. I cried because no matter what I ever did, no matter where I'd ever go, nothing would ever be that glorious during the day or outside my window. I could look at the cement and houses and street lamps all I wanted, but nothing beautiful would ever come from it. No matter how much I wanted it to.
If only the clouds would leave.