i never could write in the sunshine, yet i had to.
and sometimes, the sky opens these memories
long, long locked away.
The parting of clouds, like that of eyes, of dreams.

of being 6 and crying tears of joy,
of being 12 and just crying,
the bite of bark against forearms,
the froth of a first beer,
and fires of first love,
and aches of growth,
seeing mirrors that never had a little boy smiling,
seeing horizons that never had an end.

sometimes, i think, the sky is like a mirror
reaching out across time.
and i think i could now dance carefree
with the snivelling younger me.

with all of that self-love,
seeing his future would be enough.