Afternoon this Sunday is spent wet under the rains.
Some afternoons are spent
with you under the tangerine skies.
And I would take time for myself to watch as
the sun collides with the clouds and
wonder how these odd colors compliment each other.
Some afternoons are spent with my family.
I look up and all I see is blue, like faded denim,
and white puffs of cottons hovering above us.
And some afternoons are spent with myself.
Just in my room, and the sky is gray as usual.
These afternoons are spent staring at nothing.
My mind wandering and wondering,
thinking and creating,
solving and crushing.
These are the times when I watch as the softened rays of the sun
land on my skin and think of the times when my heart is broken.
I think of the times when laughter clothed this room.
And of the times I have almost forgotten.
I think of everything when I am alone in the afternoon.
And this Sunday afternoon,
I can see the stars crying.