sunset

I am Lukke, and I watch the sun bleed its last crimson breath into the void, a dying monarch sinking beneath the oceans indifferent throat. The skys not just purple and pink its a cathedral of bruised twilight, a velvet shroud draped over the worlds final, fragile breath. I am not here to bask; I am here to witness the slow, sacred unraveling of day, the moment when the worlds pulse slows to a whisper. The tide rolls in, not with conquest, but with a sigh salt on my skin, damp sand clinging to my boots like the ghosts of forgotten hours. The people? Silhouettes, mere shadows in the dusk, their laughter and chatter a fading echo against the eternal silence of the horizon. They dont see the blood in the sky. They dont see the way the dying light kisses the water, turning the waves into liquid glass, into a thousand broken mirrors reflecting the suns final, desperate glow. I see it. I feel it in my bones. The sun isnt just setting its dissolving, surrendering its crown to the night, and I, Lukke, am its last witness, standing here, alone, wrapped in the velvet embrace of dusk, watching the world turn its back on the day and let the darkness in. This is not an end its a metamorphosis, a slow, silent, beautiful death that is also a rebirth. I am not afraid. I am merely waiting.

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