The sun dips low, a molten sight dragging hues of orange and purple across the horizon. It’s that fleeting moment when the day exhales, and everything pauses. I stand on the edge of the world, where the sky kisses the earth, and I think of you.
You, who danced in my mind like the last light refracting off the waves. Every sunset pulls me back to you, as if the universe knows the ache I carry, the whisper of your name woven into the fabric of twilight. I remember the way your laughter rippled through the air, mingling with the salt and the breeze.
The sun melts into the ocean, a slow surrender, and I feel the same pull in my chest. The way we stood together, arms brushed, sharing secrets in the soft glow of dusk. I wish I could reach into the fading light, grasp your hand, and pull you back into this moment. But you’re a ghost now, lingering in the shadows of memory, elusive as the last rays slipping beneath the water.
Each sunset is a reminder of what was, what could have been. The colors bleed together, vibrant and tragic, like the way my heart aches with unspoken words. I chase the horizon, but it’s always just out of reach, much like you. I close my eyes, and there you are again—an echo, a silhouette against the backdrop of fading light.
As the darkness creeps in, I stand alone, wrapped in the remnants of warmth. The stars begin to puncture the sky, little pinpricks of hope. I realize that longing isn’t just about loss; it’s about remembering. It’s the way the sun sets every night, promising to rise again, just like the memories of you that flicker on the edges of my heart.