I know pink sunsets are caused by the pollution. It still doesn't stop me from sighing when I see them.

To think that your 6am good morning texts won't be sent by the time it's freaking 6am for both of us makes me rethink what normal means in the morning context.

I came back to a world where if I sing "running on my mind, boy", an ambulance-like electric guitar solo awkwardly reproduced by a human throat won't be heard before "forrest gump".

I have silence between the two verses instead, since, unacceptably, nobody I know appreciates Frank Ocean, except for you.

This gap contained in the transition between Dm and A reminds me that I've learned to listen to the silence created by your presence, so now I have to learn how to listen to the silence of your absence.

Talking about absence, that morning's absence of people in Shibuya's crossing was completely the opposite of today's being-swallowed-by-the-crowds Shibuya, which made me feel lucky for unluckily being with you that day when you thought it would be a good idea to watch the empty crossing from a starbucks that only opens at 7, when it was a rainy 5:30, a taifu was coming, after 6 hours of an all night karaoke, and all I wanted was to sleep and all I didn't want was to drink coffee like you made us do while the sun kept hitting our eyes through that glass in front of us.

Glasses. Your sight sucks, and still, I almost never see you wearing them.

You love seeing life through a pink perspective though.

I don't see colors in my dreams, but I see them in yours.

You believe in love.

I don't believe in love.
But I do believe in you when you sing la vie en rose.