The power was out, and everything was cold. The sky was crying so loudly that it hurt everyones ears, but not mine.
I love it. I love the sound of cracking light, the bluish-dark scenery filled with trees waiting to be thrown off. I love the drawings, of how it made the sky a big piece of canvas waiting to be painted on.
And I would watch, for hours, because the sky never stopped crying until night time.
That’s how my life really works, filled with things that destroys you, but you love it anyway, because you see beauty in broken things.