Sky.

A sky has no stars, no moons. It does not change color with time, it remains stagnant. The sky is the little itch you get beneath your lip while kissing, the sky is the ring stain on your polished coffee table, the sky is the baby blanket you grow out of but still keep in your cupboard, it's the lamented piece of broken glass clown you never had the heart to tell your mother you broke. The sky is a friend, the lover, the silver dust you wipe off a CD with your bum. It is the long spiral smoke string that escapes your mouth and nose when you breath too hard in the winter and it is the small, messily made plans on a starbucks table while you watch the rain.

The sky is not the sky you know.
The sky is the limit.