What was left of me
I would paint the sky, agonizing over every detail until you could see my dedication to you in the atmosphere. I would let the pink warmth of my love spill from my heart into the open canvas of the clouds, fading softly until your name is seen as the last hint of sunshine moving towards the earth. I would use a brush to attempt to imitate the unique freckles on your face, each glowing independently of each other. Sporadically placed glowing bright for all to see, lighting the night all together. I would give you depth just as the deepness in your soul.. Letting the wonder of you strike all men and women who would even gaze upon you, you possess a beauty only rivaled by the very universe around us.. And I, am stuck here on the ground admiring you.
If the sea could tell us a better story, it would be one that we drown to hear. If the sky could keep us company for awhile longer, it would be day and night fighting to be our star mirrors. If the writers could keep us for longer than a prose piece is intended, it would be a day we'd regret living because fantasy seems to find a way to up reality. It seems we're playing a game of musicians trying to settle the score, it seems we're lost and this is the only way you can feel my voice spreading from horizon to ocean, this may the only freedom we'll ever get...
so why not enjoy it for a bit longer than forever?