Magic is what happens when the sun rises.

I had to walk alone to see it.

If you were here, I would wonder what you were seeing when you looked up at the sky.

I would force my eyes to see the same thing.

Alone with the sun,

Alone with the sky tinted lightly by timid hands,

I begin to wonder.

Will I always need to look through your eyes to know?

Will I always let my sunrises come to me through the words of one who has not yet learned how to look?

Or will I ask the sun himself one day,

To tell me his story?

And will I listen?