When did my skies become so gray?
When did I get so used to a cloudy view?
When was rain such a common occurrence?
Where has my sun gone?

I remember when warmth touched my skin
Skies a vibrant blue
clouds shaped like objects
Everything bright and clear

Is this a byproduct of age?
the order of my birth?
their expectations?
an inevitability?

I thought money would bring back my sun
or a warm body next to mine
or external approval
or a prestigious title

Yet here I am
emptier than before
standing under the downpour
asking myself,

where has my sun gone?