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?