I feel like I've swallowed a cloudy sky

The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.

The sky both exists and doesn’t exist. It has substance and at the same time doesn’t. And we merely accept that vast expanse and drink it in.

Beyond the window, some kind of small, black thing shot across the sky. A bird, possibly. Or it might have been someone's soul being blown to the far side of the world.