The Sunset

Every sunset strikes as a metaphor to a sun setting on MY horizon.

The sun of memories. Of Golden Memories. Of memories containing beautiful times that might never happen again. Every sunset limits my horizon by the dread of those moments never happening again; with the struggle towards, as well as against accepting the past as the past and letting go. Every sunset encourages me only in the procedure for indulging in memories and hoping against hope for some sort of miracle. Some sort of veil uncovering itself showing a land where reality is interspersed with fantasy. Hoping for certain dreams to materialize, certain hopes to still be considered as 'hopes'.

The first glance at the dark-orange blob on a perfectly shaded canvas of the sky reminds me of words in a voice I have been yearning to hear, even in my dreams-

"The sunset or the sunrise? You expect me to CHOOSE from them? Are they even comparable?"

No, They aren't. Of course, they aren't. Both of them have their own unique beauties. Their own unique charm. The former has its beauty of instilling new hopes and oozing freshness. The latter has its beauty in the revival and reliving of memories.

I wonder if MY description of the sunset is any bit general.