I have left sunsets behind me. 

The kinds that can only be gazed at from precarious cliffs

Their clouds wailing deep orange-purple tears, until they melt into wisps 

And the sun bowing out in the defeat 

Of not being able to capture me. 

I have often left summer skies.

After having bathed in the light of their tie-dyed blue-white.

I have left butterflies, rainbows, mirages and fireflies, too

But somehow

I can never



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