We fall in love with skies,
even though they change and leave.
The next day, a brand new painting
With different color schemes.
So we take a picture,
maybe two or four,
Or more…
We forgive the fickle skies,
But we hate the folks who go.
No one is ever meant for you.
We’re all just passing through.
You have no claim on anyone.
But if you think you do,
Remember that even skies move on.
It’s an age-old testimony
That presents one FACT:

You’re wrong.