Sunsets don’t give a damn
about who stood there yesterday
eyes exhausted
from staring at the hands of a clock
instead of the horizon,
lost
in the blame
of who fell first.
They arrive
slow
indifferent,
bleeding across the sky
like nothing human ever happened here.
Every night
they lose their light
regardless
of who stood witness.
Morning does not ask who you are,
does not grab you
at the collar,
does not shake you
into another day,
another preamble
of purpose
and decay.
It burns away the dark,
waltzes
into tomorrow,
an arrogance
of movement
entering sacred rooms
uninvited,
leaving only you
to decide
what was worth
holding on to
who was worth
letting go.