Die another day

Sunset. This used to be my favorite time of the day. The brilliant hues used to light up my life like fireworks. Oranges burst here, yellows popped there and in the background, reds raged on dancing the two step with the more subtle tones of purple, indigo and blue. The way they flooded the twilight sky with such fervor only to gently kiss the ground good night just as the sun slipped away used to evoke giddy tears to my eyes.

But that was then and this is now.

Now I find the garish display sickening. The way that the clouds swoop in and steal away the sun's fading loveliness is loathsome. It always seems to end too soon. No matter how valiantly the light fights to stay alive, it is extinguished. The dark's disregard for its charm is criminal. What pleasure can there in such a fleeting tease of delicate perfection?

There is defeat and then in the morning the sun rallies uselessly only to be struck down in yet another impossible loss the next evening. On and on the misery goes as if there may never be another dawn ever again and if that was the case, I might just be okay with it.

Yes, as I lay my head down on this pillow tonight I think to myself that if I never see another sunrise again, if i never watch another day die again that perhaps that would just be alright after all.