I sat under the sky to witness the sunset only, but nature had other plans as well. I saw the yellows dissolve into the sky leaving behind orange streaks on the huge canvas. Meanwhile the moonlight was unraveling it's whiteness that mixed in the sky so perfectly.
A blue sky, painted in orange on one corner and white on the other. The rest of the picture? It was lucid. Tired. The sky like me has learnt to distinguish between hypocrisy and sincerity. Sincere. Like the wind.
The wind kissed my skin reminding me of all the times your poems have kissed me love. They still do on some forlorn nights. I try to touch my heart, to feel the marks they've left and I won't lie but they hurt. A pain that feels good (a grey pain?) When the pain settled down the wind tickled my smile glands and I felt memories of us fluttering all over my soul. It's been a while since I've felt this blue(serene) and grey.
I didn't write you a letter last night because the wind came over. Did I tell you that the wind reminds me of you? Wind is like those kisses you sent me wrapped in poetry.