I’ll take the high sun at noon,
so brilliant it washes away the shadows
you left behind.
you can keep your painted sunrises,
the ones others wake for.
You used to think the colors in the sky were
Maybe they still are for others,
but they won’t be for you.
You’ll come to realize
those colors aren’t yours.
Your soul won’t be touched by them anymore.
Not the way I touched you,
I was your magic.