Dysthymic

Fellow wanderer in the nightly sky,
concealed to me now by the cloud,
did he push past our way?
Or did you hide your gaze?

Perhaps it was I who moved,
yet standing wayward here
wishing that I would.

Notes:
I promise myself I’ll write happier things. There is such casualness in a washed out palette of thoughts though. Winter is ending though. Spring deserves more than dullness.