My sky is multi-faceted.
Most days I see a sweet pastel blue washed above me,
faded at the edge,
the edge, that wraps around me
yet
flat above me,
sweetly lays against the horizon,
who, as well as the sky,
changes
as often as the angle of my view.
Her range of emotion is ever expanding; from flat lines of no feeling
To icy sharp daggers of bitterness that puncture upwards
and every variant of feeling in between.
The docile nature
and ceaseless patience of the sky
keeps balance.
I adore
the beauty of their dance through time.
Gratefulness overwhelms me
for I have had the chance to witness their dance,
even for just this moment.

When the sun gracefully glides down the sky
And fades behind the horizon,
leaving breath taking streaks
of bright pink over the
plush white clouds
And hues,
of orange,  
and purple that reach out.
Before I know it, he takes my sweet sky.

I have not moved
yet my allaying sky is now transparent.
Hiding nothing from me.
Showing that he has only been a mixture of gases,
not
a strong yet sweet
patient and loving barrier to the unknown.
At night
in the absence of blinding light and false reflections
I see
that stars
are not stars
in the way I think of them during the day.
Stars
are incandescent bodies
small suns,
big ones too
I could travel to one,
it could be a place; it is a place.
I have thought of stars to simply be specs in the sky,
a small
bright spec
I could carefully capture
and take home.

How small I must be then.
Even if
I
were incandescent, I am too small to see at all.

A deeper emotion seeps in
through the pores of my skin.
An emotion that is a mix of others,
and hard to name.

As time passes
the nights come quicker,
and a feeling more intense than unsettling
lasts longer in me.
I think it has begun to soak into my bones,
it is becoming harder to forget by morning.

These days aren’t most—
the ones where I see through the illusion
of a protective, benevolent, pastel blue haze--  
And I hope they never are—

I’m sorry, I should stop thinking so much…