I wrote to you about the setting sun and how I hate it.
What I didn’t tell you was that it always reminds me of a time when I loved someone else. A time when he broke my heart on a Sunday evening… that exact moment when the sun decided to set.
The sky was that happy-sort-of-yellow, see the irony in that situation? The memory itself is skewed but I remember the feeling. Don’t we all? It was a mixture of sadness and relief. Sadness because I knew it was over, relief because I knew it was over. As my blood rushed to my face, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
He broke my heart and it’s okay.
But, it seems to me that I’ll never be able to completely love another Sunday evening or another sunset.