Sunset's fleeting.
What a marvel to behold such a moment; a grandness in its ephemeral, a dejection in its transcience. One does not pay heed to the sun til' its last minutes yet here I stand, watching it all up to the last hour. How quaint it is to feel such conflicting emotions, longing for eternity and yielding to the short while. Even so, I loom in the presence of a picturesque juncture longing for what could or couldn't have been, in the end, I am nowhere near the likes of Icarus—gallant nor resilient but vapid and a coward. Nevertheless, tis' a chance that was wasted—a favorite shirt hidden, dusted, and forgotten—another sunset passed, another idyllic failure jotted.
I never thought I'd be so ardent in my affections—to have you bleed into every facet of both my consciousness and penmanship. It was a consuming ember, not even a vessel could quell the everlasting urgency to articulate the myriad of notions comprised of you—it took the form of a whirlwind, hauling into every crook of my intellect and bringing dishevelment in its wake. Not one dusk is spared from the burgeoning desire to discourse the intensity of such feelings. Yet as I sat with the plaguing thoughts muddling my psyche, I was struck with sudden acridness as the verity of my reveries dawned upon me. Thus, I write of unspoken desires—each devoted to you—petrified of disclosure yet remaining as an incessant buzzing in my rationale; another sunset passed, another idyllic failure drafted.
Still, I find myself longing for a sliver of your aureate rays and be captured in a heavenly light that brings a sense of contentment—to be the cerulean yonder that carries your luster that no matter the time, I will invariably await the moment you grace the terrestrial with one's alluring countenance; To be the viridescent terrain that nurtures from your gleam, wilting whenever astray from your realm and only reviving when introduced to your ever radiant glow once more; To be even the umber mud that bears witness to the grandness of your brilliance after a rainy day. Despite all of this, you and I were never the world—I was simply a person with a chiliad of fantasies in the chasmic pits of my consciousness and you were my muse. With no place else to have my words run disembogued, I write for another instant, then another sunset passed, and another idyllic failure scripted.
Soon enough, time has stretched. What was scorching then, slowly dampened, and the last bits of coal have now long cooled. Nonetheless, as I look at the fuel that was once my feelings, I find myself a tad bittersweet. To have such a beauteous articulate arrangement of words flounder in ever reaching your ears, your eyes—let alone your heart—woes me. Then again, I was far too daunted, and all this is already of the past. Powerless about what one could do and change, I just sat and reminisced. With a gaze and a sigh, I halt. With only a trice to deliberate, I rested my pen and finalized the chapter, I wanted to enjoy this eventual hour; and sunset's fleeting.
The last sunset passed, and my last idyllic failure concluded.
——— End of Chapter 1 ———
YOU ARE READING
Of Flowery Words (I Wanted To Say)
RandomWhy not just give actual flowers? Well, flowers are a cute gift to show devotion. But don't you think that words can also do the same? If not more? These words I give can show all my devotion, bare emotions, and consolation. While flowers wilt, and...
