Try

His motto for life, yet he always kept coming back and going away and returning and leaving suddenly and begging for another chance then disappearing one morning. He always chose such beautiful days. Such preciously crafted skies of the deepest hues in which one of the more patient may even spot a new color. This time, he has made it longer than I could have imagined. This chance I have given him, he has stayed long enough to give me hope even.

I hope for everyone.

Just when I am nearly convinced that he is ready to stay, I paint for him a sky with two new colors this time, and happen upon his cold, breathless, stiff body.

Again.

And again, he wanders into my domain through a bardo now so familiar to him, he has begun to traverse casually. I prepare myself for his words which come as sure as Time turns the cosmos:

“I don’t know if I want to try again...”

I am silent. I always am. They always do the talking anyways, my input has long since proved useless.

“But I do want another chance, I have figured it out this time, and I know what to do now.”

Can he perceive my sigh? It matters not. I reach forth and pluck his blue thread, and weave it once again into its place within another tapestry of sky, so he may once again forget himself, and eventually make his return, once again.