Dearest sky, how elegant and cozy you are at such an hour; I could gaze upon your beauty for hours and hours until it faded all to black. Your clouds blush and appear bruised from abusive love, yet they remain so beautiful and soft, pale to the touch if only my fingers could reach such heights. What have your clouds been through? Surely they’ve seen more of the world than I have and yet they float in place, still as a button on a warm cardigan. Why is this? Haven’t they got a reason to drift along to explore further? Or, perhaps, have they been abused by the world too much to want to continue?
No matter, they can sit above my window for as long as they’d like. I shall admire each and every one and give them reason to blush so that their bruises may be gradually forgotten. You see, my dearest sky, beauty can always be found in those who have suffered. One day, you’ll come to understand such a thing.