I miss you, but I don’t want to. Not in the sense that I want to forget you, rather in the sense that I want you with me. I never want to forget you. You painted shooting stars in my darkest skies. You were my yellow paint, so bright and pure, always adding a splash of unbridled happiness to my darkness.

Now I’m holding my own paintbrush, and everything is black again. I wonder when my yellow paint will return, if ever it does.

I will always have my smock and pallet with me, just in case.