I bet it still rains all the time, on that coast.
Part of my soul aches for the Atlantic air, always. There was something oh so sweet about its grey melancholy. Often I find myself recalling the serene vastness of my concrete tower prison, my elusive fortress of solitude. I find myself wishing I had stayed,
where I once found myself wishing I could be anywhere else at all.
Those days remind me of you. Then again, most days do.
You once told me that I was your sun, lighting your world and pulling you ever home with the gravity of my being. You too are my sun, for by you I can truly see. I know that now, how vivid and bright my world has become.
When I look through my window these days, there are no melancholy grey skies. I don't feel the salty sea air on my lips. And although I know that we will forever have sunshine wherever we go, that we will be pulled ever home by the gravity of our love,
we'll always know the reasons why we could have had the moon and the sky.