look at that.
doesn't it look like the sun
is being muscled out by dusk?
but he's, like, not going down without
a fight. he's losing – or something.
look at those trees, framing his light.
it's out there somewhere, you know. do
you see it? no. i don't really know what "it"
is either, but i'm sure
it's real.
i want to slide open the window
and fly fly fly. i don't know where
i'd go, but rooftops and trees must
make new sense
from a birds'-eye-view.
i think i'd chase the sun.
i know right now, i mean, look at him
will you look at him, please?
he's saying he'll be back. probably
tomorrow, but no promises. we get
each other, somehow, in this moment where
i look him in the face and he tells me
to keep hoping.
keep hoping for the new day.
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