Original Poetry


Every sunset reminded me of him.
I’ll tell you why.
When the sun hasn’t quite begun to set,
When it’s still high up in the sky
Looking down on us,
It’s so incredibly warm.
It warms your soul.
It fills you up from within.
Then, when it begins to set,
The sky begins to transform
Into an artist’s pallet.
Violet, amber, pale blue, navy.
It’s the most beautiful thing
One could lay their eyes on.
Slowly, the warmth will evaporate
Into the soon-to-be night sky,
And a delicate chill
Runs up your spine,
Caressing your skin
And leaving a trail
Of goosebumps in its wake.
Every sunset reminds me of you.


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