Oh, A Sun-Fading!
Sat on this bench by the football field, I behold those horizontal, orange lines and care little about seeing dark spots after fixing my eyes on the scintillating, blinding ball of fire disappearing second by second. Time isn't as graphic as when you see a mountain absorbing the sun and its red wholeness is ruined inchmeal. Does the sun really move that fast all the time or just end the day quickly to avoid slow, painful consumption? I wonder. Maybe it can't stand the fact that darkness proceeds its brilliant present. Maybe it looks back to marvel about the greatness of America. As I'm there mesmerized, I feel a part of me wants to believe there was a new world the sun would then unfold and that would be the reason for its hasty fading…
You should see it! The two spring, bared trees on both sides projecting shadows behind me. Yes, you should feel the uncertainty the white, enormous light in front gives by impeding you from knowing if you're about to die or just about to be born: there is so much power in here! You should observe the green, artificial grass of the field vaguely obeying the wind. And the track field matching and reflecting the light of those orange brick dorms and buildings. And little by little, you start seeing less and less light around, but the eyes are still there, fixed in the landscape. There’s a sea of lights awakening underneath this nearly dark sky. At last, the lamppost starts flickering, disturbing this lake of distant lights, this puddle of distorted reflections, then the mountain devours the sun completely. Now in darkness, you feel absen…
"This may be a third world country, but I bet you haven’t seen an atardecer like this in a while!" Dad comments and chuckles.
I blink and turn.
"We tried sending you as many pictures as we could, but we know it's not the same," he continued, "I'm glad you’re back home."
Holding tight to the handrail of my balcony, I smiled, maybe. And I tried uttering a word or two, but a fading darkness filled my eyes and forged a knot in my throat.
You should see that grand view, and so should I.
