'I miss him,' the boy whispered as he looked out of his bedroom window. The soft pink wisps of clouds, the last faint murmurs of spring were before him, fading. He thought of those clouds intertwining with the blue and the sound of a distant bird. He thought of how the blackbirds swooped and weaved in the open air, toying with one another in the sky; black dots upon a horizon of uncertainty. They dived. They soared.
The boy wanted to believe that if he looked at the sky for long enough somehow the one he was missing would do the same. For a moment, however brief, they would be connected again. But the likelihood of that was as low as it was for them to even meet to begin with. One in a million. Impossible, even. Somehow, either through the approval of some ethereal force or through the mere coincidence of life, they did.
There was proof then, that life’s unpredictability wasn’t as malicious and aimless as he once thought. So, he held onto the sky; onto that dream in the back of his mind. When the clouds disappeared from the sky and the light began to fade into night, he made a silent promise to himself, then turned away.