Sunsets Are Metaphorically Tangible

I was not allowed to leave the house for unnecessary events and it didn't take me long to realize I have missed out on half of my childhood years. Plus, the world pandemic is happening so in my attempt to step a little out of my comfort zone, I failed still. In some bigger aspects, perhaps. So when I get the chance to witness sunsets, I won't miss a thing. It consoles the child in me. It reminded me of something beautiful despite being left out. And as a human who isolates herself with all the possible time, she could have, going out to catch on sunset is the perfect time to be free.

When was the last time I went out just to chase sunsets? It was not so long ago since I captured one—about two weeks ago. I wish I could make an album out of my sunset photographs, with writings along those images that would probably make the fairies faint. Sunsets remind me of my existence, that I am made to witness these mystical hues and live on colors once the sun materializes through the night. It reminded me that it's fine to exist with the pastels and ignore the ugly grays once in a while. I think peace exists in the rivalry of a dying sun and rising darkness. With the way it caressed the demons in my shadows, I felt it in my heart. That if I am to be swallowed by the blinding light that made sunsets exquisite I will be at its merciful end without a blink.

Endings like this are often a symbol of a never-ending lifetime, it ends right here and begins after the end at a constant pace. Perhaps, I stood here and embedded in my mind what art looks like when it's drawn through a universal canvas. And soon enough, maybe another soul will follow suit and carry beasts in them wilder and darker than I always had. And I hope their cries will be tamed in the end, a little better than mine, better than what I see as salvation. I hope others have loved sunsets wholeheartedly enough to create memories even after the death of nature. I hope they will see through my eyes how a gradient picturesque ignites life in the corners of my mind. I hope the silence after a suffering day comforted someone else's shoulder the way it did to mine.

Because in the fearful depths of my existence, endings have always been awful. They water agony and guilt like a garden underneath the timid sun. It is a reminder of all things shadowed and lamped. It is heartbreak brought around humanity as if a never-miss opportunity. There could be dead in the absence of the sun when it rains and all you see is black. Maybe a far-fetched dream when the 30th day comes and you still don't recognize your skin. The fatal endings are found in the poles of love and promises; in secrets, you have kept tidy with your clothes but still worn out; within a writer's mind. The end marks our fate like a mind complex.

But the sense of being alive again exists somewhere in the painted skies along with the setting sun. My sunset is held in between my fingertips and felt through the vocabulary of my poem. I feel it so dramatically as if two-faced prose is written to slow me down. And all will be quiet and mute and destruction will be far from my reach so long as I stare until the night howls. My endings don't have to be necessarily happy. I don't have to picture the skies with felicity and pain altogether. Just calmness alone will mend my lost sanity. I just need something to be reminded about and remember that I once stood behind the ever-embracing nature. I am saved as if an inevitable remedy to my tireless mind. I am alive despite an ending.

@rks.wuhdrelis

_{A warrior of liberty. With ink stains on her mind and soul. Maayong adlaw! This page contains the information you might want to know about the author. She goes by the name Arques and is under the username @rks.wuhdrelis. She lives in Cebu, Philippines, and is a proud Bisaya. She is a listener of music and is currently drowning in the rhythm of her pop-punk playlist. And she reads too, either depressing or hilarious books. Words from MJ, btw.}

_{Arques is an 18-year-old girl, on a mission to her dream college and a writer wannabe is her reputation. There's a thin line between writing and music that enthralls her mind to scribble every time she has a chance to. To write is to dream and to dream is to be free. Except for nightmares, she believes so. She fancies writing prose poetries that is usually about childhood, life, love, tragedy, something peculiar, or even unnamed emotions. Stay tuned!}

_{Images attached in this blog were taken by yours truly using a mobile device.}