The Sun (Prose)

How many times have I looked at the sun, and thought of somebody? Every time the sun rises, I think of him, and every time the sun sets, I think of the one who hated him.

I spent so many sunsets with him. I had such wonderful memories of sunsets with him. The things we talked of (though, sometimes, could leave something to be desired) were so random, and so amazingly deep, that we always felt as though the conversations should never end.

I spent such a wonderful sunrise with him, that every sunrise after it was meager in comparison. We shared a beautiful, long kiss, while watching the sunrise behind us. The feeling in the air as we touched was, without a doubt, the most wonderful thing I had ever felt. For so long, I have woken early, just to see if I can find another sunrise that excites me as much as that sunrise so many days ago did.

As much as I care about both of them, one did not like the other. My Sunset disapproved of my love for my Sunrise, and I disapproved of his disapproval. When my Sunset left this world forever...left me forever...I clung to the sun...and my Sunrise.

Whenever I would watch the sunrise, I would smile, and think about a beautiful kiss. But I would live through my day, and as I would watch the sunrise, tears would enter my eyes and I would think about him, and his death.

The beautiful oranges and reds of the sunrise clashed with the purples and pinks of the sunset, and all I could see was black. Only sad, lonely black. I live in the dark, deep black, and my only refuge is the bright sun that lightens up my day when I think of a kiss, and puts my day to rest when I think of a death.