Nostalgia

A Night Washed in Yellow

On this night, I open the window
and let the cold air touch my face.
Outside, the sky spreads wide,
softly stained in yellow,
filled with a thin mist of rain.

Somewhere out there,
there is one person
who may be thinking of me.
I do not know who it is,
yet I feel as though I do.

So I look up at the sky
and whisper back.
The moon is hidden.
The night rests in heavy fog,
like a dream,
strangely bright in its blur.

I cannot see where the sky ends.
The pale haze stretches without limit.
Sleep rises gently,
like small clouds,
and a quiet piano melody
moves through the dark.

Not quite sad,
yet not free from sadness,
it spreads softly,
holding the silent night with care.
Days I can no longer name
return without warning.

Like the dates
crowded on a wall calendar,
numbers mean nothing.
Instead, I remember one evening—
the feeling in my heart
as I stepped onto a bus.

That moment remains clear.
The yellow sky is deep tonight,
yet it is almost midnight.
How can the hour be so late?
The thought feels distant,
tender,
and gently miss it.

*these are my own paintings *