the fog usually lifts by ten oclock. it's eleven, now, and the whole world seems to be claud in a blue-grey mist. The slow, constant drizzle has taken siege of the city. and the sky--the sky is hidden by an oversized sheet...like a grey, king-sized comforter swallowing a twin sized bed.

swallow.
gulp.
breathe...

looking from my window at the blue-grey world, it all seems so cold. light. empty. no one would dare paint it. it is, afterall, just trees and a cloud-hidden sky, and fog. few would even think it beautiful.

but i do.

somehow. the emptiness--the lack of everything is just as beautiful, just as important to capture as the laughter of a summer rainstorm, or the love in an evening's afterglow, or the quiet smile of the sunrise.

i miss those--especially the nights. the thick heat surrounding us, while we lie on our backs, taking in the warm, wet smell of grass. just watching the stars make their appearance, peering from the great black curtain for their nightly performance.

dance, little one. wrap me in your warmth and sing me to sleep tonight.



never miss the sunset.