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I reached for a brick.
Step by step I climbed.
To where I had no clue.

But the sky shined like a painting that an artist splashed blues and oranges along a white canvas, doppled purple clouds, and stood back with admiration to their extravagant talent.
It looked like a child's finger painting.
But I loved it.

Step by step, nearly there, to the roof of stones and cracks and moss.
To freedom I knew could only last until dinner.
But it was freedom I could not live without.
So, I continued with determination flowing through my stardusted veins, eyes scanning every detail the tired sky brought upon the area I could barely call home anymore.

Not since the person I called the sun left me for the moon.

Not until the soul of my life was torn away after being pieced together perfectly to the sun's everlasting - but dimmed - light.
Now it mocks me, every dinner, every waking day I walk the cobble streets of this "home" until evening, it laughs in my ears like the most agonizing song.

You would call it the mockingbird of truth.
I knew I was too far gone to be with the sun.

Step.
Step.
Step.
I could count tripping on the brick a step... Maybe.

The sky grew closer... Calmer...

I reached out a hand, desperate for its warming glow of oranges, blues, and purples.
The light, the feeling, the beauty I was pieced together to love and adore for.

But the sky never grabbed my hand.
Never answered my pleas, the prayers I screamed to no one. Never dried the tears I saved for my bed. Never cared for the bruises I take from the dinners I sit through.

So I fell, and I had a thought when the darkness claimed my everylasting soul...

"This climb was a waste of my light."

~~~

This is what happens when I'm tired, listening to Lord Huron songs, and in too many different feels_

Yeah, it might not make sense, but eh, I kinda like it idk-- :'^

So uhhhh- Bare with me??