Lying on my back, feeling the grass tickle my legs as I watch you write your language across the sky.
No curves, just straight lines, forming words only you will understand.
Is it a confession? To somebody you secretly love? Perhaps you’re telling them how you’ve admired them from afar, always too scared to walk up and say hi, or about how you dream of them at night.
Maybe you’re spilling a deep secret that nobody knows. Something so embarrassing and mortifying, but so huge that you can’t hold it in anymore.
Or it could be a dream you’ve always had, you’ve always wanted to go for it, but you’ve never had the guts.
Who knows what you’re writing?
Only you do, and perhaps you want to keep it that way.