You

I love how the sky always looks happy to be blue, as though we’ve been wrong to mix colours and feelings. I love the way our sun smiles for our cameras, and I think about you.

You, in general.

I think about how many of us are looking up at once, and if we were to somehow make a global collage of our sunset photos, how big would it be? Imagine. I hope you don’t mind that I'm thinking about you.

Because I’m wondering what you like to eat in the morning before anything else, and “stranger” has never felt like the right word.

You aren't, strange.

I love how there are words for the feelings we can’t explain. "Hiraeth" is one of them. I’d like to tell you, I believe in the soul.

I want to hear about the things you believe and don’t believe, over coffee, face-to-face. But this isn’t the place we knew years ago.

You see me wear mine— striped.

I see you wear yours. Black, blue, white.

This, is our normal.

This is the place we know. I still think about you, though.

I can’t seem to mask my curiosity. I still think about what you eat to start your days and still wonder, if our sunset photos ever look the same.

Because I miss seeing you in the place we used to know, years ago, and hearing your name only to forget it right after.

We met at the bar one night. I used to see you at crowded events and never see you again, but it was cool. I miss you. "Nice to meet you" is a nostalgic phrase.

Butterflies. I miss you today.

You.

Are you looking up too?