The time is past sunset now, the dark blueish tint enveloping the night sky above.
It’s a Sunday. Stereotypically evident, by the lack of cars on the road, and the orange glow of lighting in everyone’s home. It’s the day to cut back. Society would have you believe that should be a Saturday but it’s a lie.
Sunday is when you rest. Sunday is when you reflect.
In a few short hours, the subsect of the world of which it remains night goes quiet as the mind relegates to it’s battery saver state, preparing for the morning wake and the subsequent actions that follow. Clockwork really, as the body gets set back into its routine of making money and pretending to look busier than they actually are in hopes of making more.
When I was younger, I used to fantasise that I’d be sitting at the edge of a building, or beachhead or balcony, watching the sunset in the horizon. This…dream would usually be populated by close friends and a girlfriend, conversing, laughing, socialising and eventually being comforted by the silence of being next to loved ones, as we gaze into the distance of where our deepest dreams lay accomplished. The sunset would usually be in its earliest position, the orange glow bathing us in that warm hug of loving goodness, just before it dips below the horizon.
The sunset is different now. My fantasy having being transformed by life experiences, the orange tint is absent. Now? It’s just me at the edge alone, sitting with my eyes closed.
It’s relevance in being open is useless here.
After all, what’s there to see but the dark purple mix of warm and cool, painting the sky in the uncertainty of what the future might hold. I had once believed that my path onwards would be one taken together with a group of like-minded people, walking hand in hand.
My naivety has been cruel to me. I once led myself to dream that we’d all congregate in years time, together on that edge but even I knew that to be a lie.
Maybe it’s time I get up from the view before me and return back to the house.