This evening, I look out of my window and my eyes catch the burnt crimson sky in the distance. An ugly urban landscape before, and then sheer natural beauty beyond. It's enough to stop your heart for a moment and stare, transfixing your gaze on a shimmering horizon that's fading. Slowly, the crimson is outlined by deep purples and pinks, then before you know it, the blues and greys take over. The light has slowly gone and in its place now, are the heavy clouds that will soon break open.

I have this inexplicable urge to speak to you; pick up the phone and dial your number or send you a text message. It reminds me of all the times you called to tell me to look at the moon when it was full and beaming above, and sometimes low enough to touch and taste. I always thought that the night sky would keep us together, no matter what. Like a compass it would steady us back when we strayed or a like a lighthouse on the coast, it would home us back in. I always hoped that like that hurriedly scribbled half-torn note I still keep with me, it would bind us together forever. I remember the night you left it behind for me, like a prayer nailed to a door. You went in search of me and I tried to catch up with you.

Sometimes, it feels like we're still running around in circles. Then mellow evening skies pull me back to the idea of us, like the painted serenade from an artist's brush. We're still together, in those pockets of time and space that gently bob in the atmosphere. But I can never give you butterfly kisses again and tell you that I'm yours. Nor can you ever hold me close and tell me that I smell like butter cookies. Live strong and live free, so that I can now grow flowers where our love used to be.