Sunset
The sunset is infinitely beautiful, yet dusk draws near. There was a time when I believed those words spoke only of loss — that beauty, by its very nature, must be brief, that everything radiant is destined to surrender itself to darkness. But the years, moving with their patient and invisible hands, have taught me otherwise. The sunset is not the defeat of daylight. It is simply another way in which light chooses to exist. I often find myself watching the evening sky, wondering why it stirs the heart so quietly. Perhaps because the sunset never announces itself. It arrives almost unnoticed, gathering the colours of an ordinary day until the whole horizon becomes a language without words. We stand before it believing we are watching the sky, when all the while it is our own lives being gently illuminated. Love has always seemed to me much the same. Not the sudden blaze that startles the heart in youth, but the slower, quieter radiance that remains after certainty has dissolved. Love, i...