The skies were always one way or another, laughing or crying back then. The horizons were wide and unflawed, or you couldn’t see them at all. You traveled another highway, singing to yourself. The sea was waiting for you, carbonated foam rolling up and reaching out for anyone and you. You would walk in and never be seen again. But not today. Not today. The kids smiled when they saw you, immortal in your pain, you smiled, too, for you both knew forever, in a day the way you walked, your hands half in your pockets caught on the loops. The little hands they wouldn’t ever let go. But not today. Not today. You were the one all alone.