I think I missed the sun my first time around; by the second, I was young and angry.
I think of sunshine when I think of hot chocolate, I think of warm bubbles tucked into a cafe-au-lait colored mug that smiles porcelain in the morning.
If that sunshine could be bottled, I would give it out on every street corner, in every basement, and every wellness center. I would dump gallons in the water supply, and if someone choked, they didn’t deserve it anyway.
I think about sunshine more then falling stars and wishes, more then moments and memories too long past.
I don’t think the sun is enough anymore.