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The sun sinks low, dragging my chest with it,
each golden thread unwinding into ash.
I sit at the edge of this weary day,
where endings are too heavy to carry.
The sky bleeds orange, like my heart once did,
a quiet violence, too soft to scream.
I watch the clouds smear their grief across the horizon,
and wonder if they’re tired too.
What is it about this hour
that makes despair wear a prettier face?
The dying light feels so human,
aching to be remembered before it’s gone.
I breathe it in, the sharp, sweet scent of endings,
while shadows wrap themselves around me.
I want to tell the sunset it’s cruel
to be this beautiful when I’m breaking.
But maybe that’s the truth it whispers:
there’s something sacred in the falling,
a fragile defiance in the darkening sky.
And tonight, I’ll let it hold me, just for a while.
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