The letter lies there, on the desk.
"I wish I could fly," it says.
there is no signature
the edges are crumpled
the envelope is too small
the ink is a bright orange, the last letter smudged
but he wants to fly.

He wants to fly.

So it's all I can do to give him a lift.

he sings
like there is no one watching
but everyone is watching
and I am watching

and I wish that I could keep this part of him for myself.

He is the sun.
bright
and orange
and drawing your attention
until you are blinded and sunburnt and in awe and watching as
as He-
as He FLIES.
as He soars, ascends, goes higher and higher and never, ever falls.

what use is a sun,
if not to distract the world from the moon?
the moon glows. It does not take the spotlight.
It is all knowing and lovely and shimmering and illuminating and observant and
and the moon  -the moon is, if not anything else, always there.

The stars twinkle.
They smile,
They offer encouragement.
the stars are beautiful and expansive and appear in the most unexpected of places, on the cuffs of jeans, in the wake of dreams,
in a smattering across the cheeks.
The stars are familiar.

the sky ties them together.
ever changing
full of all that it loves
the sky is large and encompassing and it will always, always
the sky will always
the sky will always
love.