Ground Meeting Sky

The clouds are too close to the ground.

I looked up to see that the tops of the high rises are painted in pink as the clouds swirl through the air in the sunset, and the surreal gray of wispy rain barely has a place in the blotted image that sits on the horizon. It feels like I can simply reach up and take a piece of the sky; as if the world is slowly imploding or folding inside out. With each passing second the ground seems to rise about an inch, because surely the sky cannot fall so slowly, and with each of those passing seconds I feel like I should lay flat on the street and wait for the mist to consume me.

Perhaps before morning, the dark will be dark no more, for it will be everything.