by magicmushrooms27

It is on days such as these,

when the sun lies against my window pane and eyes my skin,

humming delicately to the glass,

warm with breathy rays of light,

I hear that winding melody,

the way those bending notes could reach above the trees and breathe,

the song we loved before his voice could ever spoil the sound,

that same sheet of wonderful noise which refuses to quiet itself in my presence.

You, beaming in all your excellence

always remind me what a beautiful color orange is,

like when you turned to look at me

that day when the sky slept so bright it charred tan lines onto your skin and said,

I fucking hate that song.

But not when you're singing it.