Last Sunset
It’s never quite right, they say, the way we gaze upon each other, the way our hearts beat in sync, the way our souls intertwine. It’s never quite right, they whisper, all the lessons we learn, all the dreams we chase, all the tears we shed, all the laughter we share, they are never quite right, hardly close to right, these lives we live, one after the other, piled there as history, the remnants of our existence. “Don’t I know it?” I reply, my voice echoing through time. I turn away from the mirror, its reflection a mere illusion, morning, afternoon, night— they blur together, a seamless continuum. Nothing changes, locked in place, like the hands of a broken clock. Yet something stirs within, a flicker of defiance, a fracture in the monotony. I descend the stairway, each step a descent into uncertainty, and I step into the void, where imperfection blooms, and life dances on the edge, hardly right at all, yet beautifully flawed. I hope you find solace in these imperfect words