It’s dusk, and it’s been overcast all day. The sun never actually came out, so to say that it’s setting feels deceitful. But to the west, the sky has cleared a bit, and the tall buildings are safe in the embrace of pink clouds and periwinkle sky. The east is dark, except for a handful of stars. I’m not sure I believe in an afterlife, but if it exists, for some reason it feels closer when the sky is a strange color, and I want to believe that salvation can be found in nights like this. I turned my face to the sky, and with the wet air against my face, I told my grandfather I loved him. I took the change in the wind’s direction as his response.