When the Sky Forgets to Pretend

There are evenings when the horizon looks too tired to keep its mask on. The clouds stop arranging themselves into something pretty, the colors bleed without grace, and the light just falls... clumsy, uneven, raw. And in that strange imperfection, the sky feels the most real.

I wonder if that's how we are too, when we let the tiredness slip through, when we don't hold ourselves together for anyone's comfort. There's something beautiful in the unpolished version of us, something honest in the moments we stop trying to be seen as whole. The sky reminds me that even in its mess, it is still vast, still worthy of being looked at, still carrying the weight of everything quietly beneath it.