I've always loved gazing at the clouds. The shapes seem to hold possibility, however you can choose to recognize them as something specific. Today they remind me of you. Our love. Our journey. Our story's in the sky.
I see a rose, a white rose. Our first date, I told you I hated red roses. I also said that I loved a flower with the colour white. Our second date you showed up with a single white rose for me. Then every other time you bought me flowers it was a single white rose, our tradition. After the flower died, I took one of the petals and placed it in a jar on my desk at work. Then I would always have pieces of you with me, mixed with our history.
You believed anything was possible, and I told you I'd do the same. "Just because you haven't seen something, doesn't mean it doesn't exist." I repeated that phrase to everybody from then on. We spent hours creating fantasies and imagining. You were the first person I went cloud gazing with. Then stargazing at night, too. I swear I saw this same shape the first time we did this together.
Is it just me or is the sky really beautiful today? A pretty shade of bright blue, clouds practically glowing white. I lay on the green grass speckled with dandelions. Your presence is still here with me. You will never be gone to me, there will always be a piece of you in my heart.
Representing our life. Revolving around our marriage, revolving around each other. Representing our love. So strong, until it was broken.
Pieces of glass.
At least that's what I think I see. Shattered. Representing our love in a different way. Broken. We're falling apart, we already have.
A window of hope, maybe? A window to fix ourselves, make everything right? I'm not over you yet. I still look at my jar of petals everyday. In fact, my original jar had turned into a bigger jar, which had turned into two jars, which had turned into 5 glass jars full of white rose petals to keep my memory of you alive.
Because God had other plans for us. Ruining our old ones. A life together would not be possible. Our fading love was only a minor issue until you brought it up. It was over. Not a week after I'd moved out, I heard news of your death that nearly tore me apart. As though with a real knife, I felt I was being stabbed. The pain and grief haunted me for days, it still does. I then realized that I wasn't over you yet.
Its wings spread out wide. Flying, perhaps? It sure looks that way in the sky. This cloud represents me. I fly on my own now, without you.
Rain begins to sprinkle down on me. Maybe there will be a rainbow. A sign that you're up there, waiting for me. Waiting for our love to return. Waiting for us to be happy again. Our story's in the sky, dear. Our story's in the sky.