I'm laying on my back with my legs open on a splintered park bench. Nobody's around, so I don't care much about modesty. But then again, that's the key. That I suspend in complete solitude.

I stare hungrily upward, white meticulously fades into a soft, greying periwinkle. Close enough to enjoy, far enough to be out of reach. On occasion, I saw a bird gliding by and my eyes trailed elsewhere, but otherwise I was fixated with the sky. It's like a minimalistic painting, but much better. It's actually alive. People never appreciate the sky like they should.

I want to make a resolution to stop getting disappointed, but I wouldn't even know where to begin fufilling that. All I know is that I'm extremely hesitant to leave because I know once I enter synthetic lights and general chatter, I'm not going to feel half as good as I do now.