Staring at the suns that the sun wouldn't let you look at,
At the patterns they make,
And what they mean to you.
In the world the patterns take you to,
In familiarising yourself with these constellations,
Still lost in the joy of being a speck in the universe.
Still lost in the ups and downs,
Of those compressions and rarefactions,
Lost in the math of these waves,
Rejoicing in the synchrony
Between your mind and the composer's.
In the hues the boring blue sky breaks into every evening,
The hues the clouds absorb and disperse,
The hues that your busy polluted city refuses to appreciate,
The hues that light up the horizon.
When would you realise you lost me?