In equal parts of light and darkness, we find ourselves staring at sunsets, almost on the edge of letting the sun and all it’s forms consume us in ways we haven’t seen. Before the dawn, watching the skyline selfishly swallow the whole of night, the stars and every other huge mass, the moon and it’s coldness, the blue and the violet scattering the light away from eyes that can’t shine. The sun is laying low on the horizon, watching and rising in oranges of all kinds, stealing away some to give away more. ‘The sun comes up again’, but does it ever taper off it’s ends or is it our eyes that can’t follow? Does the sun ever feel the pain of burning, or has it just diminished itself in the way of being an everlasting source of orange and hope?
Infinite boulevard 