Today the sky is white.
It looks like a sheet was pinned up from the stars
and it billows around the quivering black leaves.
Rouged noses peak out between the hats and scarves that scuttle down the streets whose colors have been washed away.
It reminds me of the white sky when we climbed Turtle Hill
and we sat on a park bench at the top.
I could taste the white sky on your lips.
Your warm heartbeat shook the whole cityscape below us,
all wrapped up in that white haze.
It reminds me of how the gray waves lapped up against the white sky
the day we sat in the sand, gazing at the colorless ocean.
You held me tight against the white wind that carried our secrets and our dreams,
and you cradled my heart in your gentle, calloused hands.
Today the sky is white, and it reminds me of the white sky under which you told me you didn’t love me anymore,
one day in that cold summer.
When I walked away from where you stood, my tears froze into daggers.
When I looked back, you had disappeared into the white sky.
And you were gone,
with my love still laced through your fingers.
Today, I look outside my window, and I see you in the white sky.
—By Greta M.