It is interesting how I keep coming back to you every few weeks. Even if I have nothing to say. Even if I know all there is to know. I keep coming back. You are like that grey sky in the evening skyline. Everyone is looking at the bright lights made more prominent by the contrast. I am guilty of it as well. And yet, every once in a while, I return to dwell in your abstract.
It is sad as well, how these muted tones that I once so fondly cherished are now ravaged. And like all other evenings, this too will be discarded in the light of the day. And the evening skyline will hide, bide its time with me and wait, for that uncertain dawn to glitter again. Perhaps for the last time.