You were beautiful blue turning to cold-stone gray, standing back so far in a brush of shade, I did not even recognize you for the colors that guarded your heart dark and new, but so predictable like the night turns black no matter what. There’s not always Stars. The view is not always clear and the eyes… they don’t always show your heart the right path, but isn’t it the heart that saves face in the aftermath? The heart is the map taking you by the hand to say, “no.. this way, dumb ass.” You listen or you don’t. Take the way of the gray and suit up for the chill that comes with the shade. Arm yourself solid, so those stones don’t penetrate the skin, break into your bones, hit your heart with a rip straight up the center, and use your own spine as a weapon to gut what’s left of the blue. That’s not you. Your sky is not the shade that stays clouded over, love. You are not that kind of storm. But I wait here, without asking for shelter, my eyes stuck on the sky like a search that never stops, hoping if there’s a god up there, he will tear part of the sky open just enough to reveal a tiny speck of the blue that is you. I miss you.