Everyday we look up at the sky, never suspicious of the true wonders it might show us at that moment: an endless gorgeous blue, mighty cotton-candy like white clouds, millions of wings tearing up an abyss in the air… Hundreds of hungry-faced people stare at the sky with me, famished, and hoping to ease up their pain with emptiness.
No. Sky is wonder. Sky is the limit for us, unfinished products of evolution; unpleasant unions between earth and water; irresponsible beings who took mother earth for themselves.
No. Sky is a new beginning. Sky is the Promised Land for our era’s gold prospectors. Sky is one of my subterfuges, sky is … just the sky. A beautiful portrait painted and admired by us, what we often forget is that that particular painting wasn’t painted specially for us. We were just caught in the middle of an art display that is our planet.
Beware, those wonderful paintings that colour that art display may be stolen by us, and will be irrevocably lost in time.
The Sky. My sky. Your sky. My friend. A friend who listens to me when my tears find no where else to fall, when my heart pumps so hard that it shakes the clouds, when my thoughts scream so loud that every single bird becomes quiet to hear my cry of pain.
A friend that no one, not even myself, will take away from me.
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