The Constancy of Sunsets

Any one who spend their time with their eyes in the sky knows of the beauty of a sunset. Any one who spend their eyes skyward knows of the golds and reds and pinks and blues and purples all swirling together in a painted dance.

But those who spend their time with their eyes skyward can never tell those who do not of the beauty of a sunset. There are simply no words. No words can do that tapestry of light, shadow, color and warmth justice. People who spend their eyes skyward have sunsets in their heads, they have their own glittering jewels of dying light swirling in their eyes, You can see it, if you truly know to look. You can see it in their smiles. You can see it in their tears. 

You were one of the people with sunsets in your eyes, and so was he. Yet somehow, he was always with someone else, someone with personalities no deeper than their pores and IQs lower than their dress sizes. But your eyes found each other, stolen glances across the room, when no one saw enough to care or cared enough to see. 

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She was gossiping to him about something he didn't care about and he would likely forget about the second she left his line earshot. He didn't look at her, instead his eyes were toward the skies, mirroring the sun's swan song in beauty and intensity. 

"Nice sunset tonight, isn't it?" He asked. 

"Uh-huh, sure, well anyways," She continued with the mindless rant, which at this point was mostly so she could hear her own voice. She hadn't even spared a glance toward the magic sky. 

Across the parking lot, some one called to her, and he waved a half-hearted good-bye, before staring toward the heavens again. 

Now, the trouble with eyes up, up and away, away, is one tends to forget the ground beneath one's feet. He had such problems; as a rebellious, tricky root protruding from the earth ensnared his legs, causing him to tumble out of the daydream. 

You didn't even think before helping him up, rushing quickly to him. His eyes met your own. The affect was electric. You'd glanced at each other before, but eye contact was quickly broken. Usually it was a game of he looked, you didn't, you looked, he didn't. But now, your sunsets were side-by-side. It was like two super novae, exploding opposite each other. Energy and power mingled in the space between you, eyes burned holes through the physical plane like a candle burns its wick. You saw each other. Sunsets and star lights and thunder storms and fireflies and great, endless, oceans and voids. 

He was a being in which another universe resided and to him you said, "It's a nice sunset, isn't it?" 

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The auditorium was filled with people, all close together and close to the breaking point. The gym smelled of sweat. The music was too loud to hear the person across from you and the din of human activity drown out the music. The sheer noise coming from all directions made your head hurt, and you desperately needed fresh air.

Your companion, seeming to sense this gestured to the double doors. Grateful, you slipped outside, hand in hand. 

Since the night of the malicious flora when you met, you and your partner had spent 647 sunsets together, and every one was beautiful. Tonight was no exception. 

Pearl pink whispy clouds streaked across the robins' egg blue canvas like brush strokes. The sky above you was periwinkle and lavender, calm, sweet and relaxed, especially after the chaos of the dance. The night air was crisp and cool, but the dying light turned the world to warm, molten gold. 

"Sorry the dance was so crazy," your companion said, averting his gaze. You had told him you didn't want to come tonight, and for this reason. Too many people. Too little space.  

You shrugged, "It's fine. You didn't know it'd be like this. Besides, tonight wasn't a total waste," You gazed upwards, "It is a nice sunset." 

"Yes it is," And with that, he pulled you into a timid yet passionate kiss. It tasted of moonbeams breaking through the forest and touching the mossy floor. It was wind whispering through sleeping trees. It was power and beauty and warmth. It was the kiss of a sunset. 

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People cheered when you kissed in front of your orchestra of brilliant colors. The sunset had put on it's nest to night, the same way you wore fine white silks and he wore his best, freshly ironed tux. The sky was a magnificent explosion of color. The clouds were red as wine, brilliant as leaping flames and soaring phoenixes. The sky was a blue-ish lilac, with hints of silver. The gold light caught a glass of champagne and the contents turned the color of ancient amber or fresh honey. It was underneath that dying sky that you pledged your undying love for a man you had met roughly five thousand sunsets ago. You couldn't have asked for more. You hoped this never had to end. 

"Lovely sunset tonight, my wife." 

"Agreed my husband, agreed" 

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20,000 sunsets from when they met, the brilliant galaxies in his eyes disappeared. It wasn't subtle, they were their and then they were not. The hair on his head was grey, his movements were slow, smile non-existent. His sun had finally set. And now he sat, under a dark, cold, starless sky. 

Things change, things fade, things die, things fade to dust. The sunset eventually gives way to the night. Time had passed. 

But somethings don't change. You can't count on the sun to set. You can count on people to die. 

The sky above was majestic, royal purple. The horizon was still orangey gold and the light pink clouds drifted easily and lazily through the sky. 

It was beautiful on the same way a hurricane was beautiful. Natural. Descructive. 

His eyes travelled to the sky for a final time. So many memories. So many sunsets. That sky was like that when he met you. It only seemed fitting the sunset would be his final companion for his final good bye. 

Starry tears welled at the corners of his night eyes. 

"It's a beautiful sunset, isn't it, love?" 

But the grave stone did not respond.