the paint on the sky hadn't dried

still sticky with thick coats of the afternoon,

rubies were picked, crushed between the palms

and thrown all over it like smoke,

the sunset looked like a glowing whale

swimming across the sky

its tail splashing notes of music

we drank our luscious fill

the other day someone spoke to me about sunsets

and they used the word sadness and I clung to it

and I haven't left it since

at the sight of a crispy sunset, three years ago

I was bidding goodbye to a friend -

“sunsets are not meant to be witnessed alone,” I said

it's a bloom so crimson that it's the same as the blood of separation

it gathers the transience of beauty

~ that takes ages and seasons to truly demonstrate ~

within a small window of a few minutes,

few minutes of crashing and spilling onto the world,

of fighting wars, making love, birthing whales that dance across the sky,

appearing into lonely hearts through a nozzle of loss and yearning

few minutes of stopping the world to grieve over beauty

sunsets are not to be lived through alone,

I hope you have company…