I like torn and broken at sunset
Like an old deep well on a hill
Whimpering all day long
Like the chaotic grass in the corner
Desolate fragrance
Like loneliness released from dusk
Soak the whole world
Like crispness when broken and silence when healed
Quiet and empty gaze
Your back
Soaked
Like the joy of waving
But it is helplessness and imitation when parting
Reblogged this on worldtraveller70.
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Every time someone asks if I’m a “sunrise person” or a “sunset person,” I always have to say sunset person. There’s something sweet, melancholy, and beautiful about sunsets that I can’t put into words– but I think you managed to express some of it.
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