You won't remember my face.
I studded your roof with stars that night. I wanted them to match the shrill songs that raced the wind behind you. You didn't hear me sing along to your speakers. Both of your ears were muffled by your surroundings: the car stereo, your out-of-tune giggles, your flamboyant backseat dance moves. I remember that night well. It rests thickly on my scalp; black, flecked with the gleaming specks I planted for you. It reaches my shoulders, and undulates as recklessly as your laughter did.

You didn't see me last week, either. I'm sure that you heard me, though.

I boomed. "Scaring the living daylights out of the kids!" That's what I heard a waterproof mother mutter to her husband as she clutched her children at the bus stop. I was a lit-up outburst; some sort of poetic fury emanated from me. My rage created a silvery firework show for you. I think I know why. I forgot to forget that something was missing. I wept. The streets turned glassy. All those dribbling sobs swam through the streets until everything leaked too. Those 4pm tears have melted my cheeks into dripping pearly wax.

I saw your eyes when I resumed gold again this morning. You peeked between your curtains and squinted at me. You hadn't seen me in a while, and I was determined to impress you. I wanted you to look forward to seeing me. I was the gleaming dome of gold billowing over your head. It all melted into a melee of colour. I was buttery, affectionate; I stroked your home with my velvet fingers. I heard you think of flowers - your neighbour's blushed geraniums, perhaps? - when you saw those pink patches bloom across the air. My lips took on that blush when I heard you, actually. They're still just as pink now.

I know what your favourite part of me is. You like me when I'm childish. Right now.
I'm a brilliant Boticellian jewel today. I stole a melange of hues from the sea to improve lunchtime for everyone. I see them in the parks' grass; snoozing, sitting, speeding after siblings. I'll lazily promise to protect you from my temper while you daze too. You all love to look at me when I'm like that. You love to gaze across my cerulean expanse, and drink in the music you play while doing so. I gaze back at you in the exact same way. My eyes are two infinite fistfuls of blue, yanked from the corners of the roof I've gifted you. I suppose that we'll meet again tonight. I can't wait to see you singing along to your mother's teenage hits.