Day 1
I saw your photos of the sunrise on Instagram and the way your camera lense intensified each shade of wildly beautiful pink and violet. (Just like they always did.) I can't help wondering why you were awake at 4 am. Just to see the sunrise, or to show it to somebody else?
Day 89
It isn't even half past five o'clock in the morning but I've never felt happier to have been woken up. My alarm feels like the screaming of banshees, but my text tone sounds more delightful than three purring kittens. I've unlocked my cell phone to a picture of the sky seen from out your window every dawn for the past 3 days. I can see the other side of the clouds from my house. It's only sensical to respond with my perspective. Together our pictures of the sunrise give a complete view of the sky, and Instagram doesn't even know. It's our secret.
Day 198
I used to enjoy watching dark shades of navy blue dissipate to leave behind light cyans and golds, and a long period of my life was spent admiring photos of it. But never had I even dreamt of a morning where the sun had awoken as brilliantly as this one. If I had known that to accentuate the beauty of each orange hue was to watch it from your arms, I would have done it the moment I was born. The white paint on your windowpane was glowing almost as brightly as our smiles, and even though we were missing the view from the other side of the sky, the warmth of your skin made up for it.
Day 250
I've pulled my shades down so far over my windows that I fear my neighbors think I've gone crazy. I hear evil cackling from the horizon every morning when I wake up. I haven't used my alarm in weeks because I am afraid that I'll accidentally look right through the sunrise to see you and her smiling together at the sky on the other side, just like we did. I've never seen a dark pink that looked so much like blood, and the only thing as cerulean as the 5 am clouds are my tears. I can leave school and I can get out of my car, but I can never escape the sky.
Day 365
I never noticed how the sky holds more beauty than that in the early hours of the morning. Today, somebody took my hand in their left and used their right to point higher than the treetops, and with that small gesture, they taught me that every day I treated 6 pm as it were 6 pm. I made the mistake of hardly noticing blues darkening to reds and deep violets, or stars emerging where clouds were once floating. I think someday I’ll find someone who takes pictures of flowers and watches clouds with me during any time of the day. And I think as long as the sun doesn’t crash when it goes to set, I’ll be okay.
r.m.
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