I’ll walk clifftop.

Watch the sunrise fractured by a hundred different puddles, made whole again by the sea.

I’ll bleed peace and spill calm over ground that should’ve been cared for by now, and I’ll draw maps of the old season in battleship blue and a half-healed ****** crimson.

I’ll love them: Today they are mine.
Tonight I’ll give them away, and I’ll love them more.

I’ll walk clifftop.

I’ll pause. Watch the sunset rain copper-coins into a rolling-smoke sea, and I’ll miss him.