The woman had just stepped out of her apartment. She held
onto her hat, as a gust of wind shuttered past.
she walked down the street and breathed the lailacs and the
pavement in the air. She admired the sunset as she waited
for the train. She wondered about what would happen in her
life, and tried to promise to herself that she wouldn't
worry about it anymore.
she got on the train, the sun blazing through the windows.
The bell rang out, the doors closed shut, the train started
rolling.
The woman wondered, in the train, staring at the guard rails
casting shadows on the floor...
she wondered what would happen, what was in store for her
after the sun sets and moon comes up.
she wondered what world she would live in tomorrow.
she wondered why the sun looked so sad. why the sun was
somehow so understanding.
the sun had a tough-love philosophy, so every evening it
would cast a light - a light that would bring feeling of
sorrow to everyone who sees it.
we need the light. it's the only thing that keeps us from
becoming animals. we need the sunset, we need the sorrow, in
order to write poems, for poems are all we are.
and the woman held her chest, as she had so many times, and
felt the sunset's sorrowful light as it pierced her soul
and mind.
the clarity of evening.
she waited for her stop to come.
i have no idea where i was going for this. i'm not sober
enough to have a full plan like that.
