On the edge of the cloud.

When the weather is nice, I know where he is.

Not up, not down – he sits somewhere on the edge of the cloud, looking out from there.

He doesn't speak.

He doesn't wave.

He's just there.

And when it suddenly gets cooler in the evenings, when a familiar shiver runs through my skin, I'm not scared.

Then I know he's close.

Not to say anything.

But to be present.

There are relationships that live on not with words, but with feelings.

In a cold breath.

In a quiet moment.

In an inexplicable calm.

And then I don't ask if it's true.

I don't look for proof.

It's enough that I feel it.