"Downtown. Lights on buildings and everything that makes you wonder. And in that moment, I swear we were infinite"

A city at night becomes a kind of secular cathedral: glass and steel lit up like constellations you can walk among. “Downtown” signals not just a place but an intensity of aliveness where anonymity and proximity collide. Lights on buildings are human-made stars, proof that countless lives are stacked and humming, and seeing them can tilt perception from the smallness of one self to the bigness of the world. Wonder arises in that tilt, a sudden aperture opening in the mind where the ordinary fractures into the sublime. The city doesn’t offer answers; it offers a field of possibility that makes questions feel exhilarating instead of heavy.

The cadence, direct, present, and culminant, moves from a scene to a sensation to an oath. “And” stitches the images together, a breathless polysyndeton that mirrors the rush of being present. “I swear” functions like a ceremonial vow, acknowledging the ineffable quality of what’s being testified. The “we” matters: infinity here isn’t solitary transcendence but a shared dilation of time, a moment where friendship suspends gravity. Youth, motion, night, these are conditions that collapse past and future into one charged now. The feeling of being infinite is not literal immortality; it’s the conviction that limits loosen, that identity becomes porous, that life’s texture thickens enough to hold everything at once.

Memory retroactively frames that rapture; the moment becomes a relic of meaning precisely because it was brief. Infinity paradoxically arrives through ephemerality: the more fleeting the experience, the more it expands inside us afterward. The line offers a quiet ethic, pay attention, allow wonder, let the world be large. It suggests that transcendence doesn’t reside in grand achievements but in the quality of attention we bring to whatever surrounds us. Under electric skies, with friends beside us, the ordinary can open into the infinite, and that is enough.