This is what I love: the magical appearance of hues of colour spreading upon the canvas sky, brushed upon with a million shades, upon a dark and gloomy winter morning. The light still remaining upon the horizon on an evening re-entering the outside cold after a long day in the office, when for days, weeks, months, in what seemed to stretch a whole lifetime of waiting, the sun had bid adieu long ago.
And today, this is what I love: the bright moon waiting patiently as I entered the outside dawn still dark, the glimmer of lighter blue upon the edges of the patchwork sky. The sun had yet to visit, but I was assured that it would definitely come. And it did, and shone bright, reflecting off the frigid cold, glancing off the crystal ice.
And walking through the dark night fallen, this is what I love: the solitary streetlamp which remained dark until I passed under, it flickering itself a hello as I went.
This is what I love, and why not, for what I love is hope.