Once again, the sun sinks low, staining the sky a bloody hue. Standing by the window, I watch the light gradually dim, and it strikes me that dusk is the cruelest hour of the day—it tenderly reminds you that everything must fade away.
There was a time when we stood side by side, watching this same twilight. Your laughter still lingers in the wind, your warmth still seems to cling to my fingertips—yet when I reach out, I grasp only a handful of cold air. Time is a merciless blade, slowly whittling away our memories until even the contours of your face grow indistinct.
How fleeting life is. Yesterday, we were young and reckless; today, streaks of silver already thread through our hair. The distant places we once promised to see—we never reached them together. The “forevers” we swore—they turned out to be nothing more than fleeting sparks. The slanting twilight spills through the window, casting long shadows across the floor, like the road we never finished walking.
Sometimes I wonder—if time could flow backward, would I have held you tighter? Would I have swallowed my sharp words and lingered a little longer in tenderness? But dusk never looks back. It sinks, silent and resolute, into the night—just as you left, without even the mercy of a backward glance.
Darkness finally falls. Street lamps flicker on one by one, like someone’s tears glimmering in the fading light. I know the sun will rise again tomorrow, and dusk will return—but some people, some things, will never come back.
Perhaps this is life—we are all wanderers in time, meeting and forgetting along the way.
