The Meaning of Loss

I used to wonder where the clouds go.

I didn't notice for years that I had stopped asking that question. Slowly, my inquiry drifted over the horizon. I looked away for a moment; when I looked back, it was gone.

There were long, legato notes, beautiful and subtly powerful. I heard them right before the sun went down, at that time of the day when the right kind of eyes can see _so much_ beauty in the world. On those nights, I knew I would have the kind of dreams that make you want to sleep forever: the kind of dreams that you can't remember in the morning, beyond a nebulous, satisfying bliss.

Now, all of my dreams just wake me up.