Mild orange
The sky blazes a soft pink My finger quivers underneath the leather gloves that are trying to protect me against the cold set in by solitude and the bitter taste of relationships that don’t last because geography intervenes. The evening turns orange, my mood tilts eventually and the finger ceases to quiver. What changed? People don’t stop caring because they disappeared. Object constancy must be developed. Unless people changed. Some don’t and others do.