The fine-looking skyline doesn’t remind me of you, neither does the gleam of the moon at all those starless nights; but the sunup does, the sundown too. The splendor is tempting yet its back and forth never stops. As the tie of your eyes with the lively tint of the sky reaches the bottom, it then dies away, leaving you skeptical and unassembled. You’re craving for more but then the sky is done diffusing shades of its beauty. Your thirst doesn’t quench, rather you’re drenched with restlessness wanting more to it, possibilities, underneath and above it. The sundown, it’s more momentous to me because that’s where my fluorescent lights begin turning darker and dimmer with the passage of time. Not that I don’t strive fixing my lights but by no means I can, so I turn down, let go and try to move out and then ultimately fail to do so. That’s when I gave up trying to sweep you off with the rain that floods my soul with compassion and sting at the same time, because you’re the sun that sooner or later materializes with its reheat to beat up the frostiness the rain brought with it. And maybe if you ever discontinue showing up, the world that I reside in today will darken, stiffen and turn into a carcass long lost in misery.