Wait For The Skies To Change

She looked up for the first time. She saw what had been there, was there and what would forever be there, but in a different way, Was it her, or was it the earth, ever changing and ever beautiful and that had cause this difference in sight. Was she growing up, was she opening her eyes?
She had heard people talk about change, about the big thing they all stood under, how they could feel at least a hundred people standing under it, watching it. It was cliché. Or so she thought. Her view of the world was changing as she grew, and she began that often cliché’s were cliché only because they were true to so many people.
That day, when she looked up, she finally understood. The vast patch of blue tainted with grey, white and yellow light was spectacular. It was huge, yet the urban jungle shaped it. It formed a shape according to shapes of the building. You could see it, yet you could not. A large part of it was hidden, darkened on the other side of the world. She wondered why. Why had she not looked up before, why had she not seen this before? Why had she never left like she could reach out and touch it, little pieces of the sky?
Was it her, or was it the sky?
Who was changing, what was changing and why was it changing?
Would she stop changing, would the sky remain this beautiful?
She wanted to freeze time, she wanted to stay, but she could not. She knew it.
So she would just wait. Wait for things to change. Wait for her eyes to open again. Wait for the sky to become this beautiful again.
Wait.