As I write to you today, others with me are already engaged with closed eyes after staying up for a long period of time, proving their mettle against the inevitable, sleep. I look out at the skies who're wearing black robes with a few sparkles on it. One particular sparklet is moving with me constantly, matching eye to eye, just like our sync. These black robes are where I wish to paint you with the color you are, yellow. On that yellow, on you, I wish to paint colors you've learnt about yourself lately and shown me. It is those lips who win the color of rose out of a tough competition between your cheeks, lips and your nail paints. Little did I know about your condition of painting the lips.
"You paint the lips, with the lips."