Two Sunsets

I remember my first sunset; twelve years ago. We had lived in twilight so long that it became like day to us. Perhaps we thought that night would never fall, that we could have the light forever, dim though it be. At last she slipped beneath the black horizon, that glorious wheel that brightened so many lives, sprouted so many seeds and shone them into stars themselves. We saw our reflections in the drifting aeons of night. Like us, all of those twinkling beads would be long burned out before ever their light reached eyes to appreciate them. What could we do without her? For a long time all we could do was stare into space, asking the same questions as every stargazer before and hence. Finding no answers, we waited for the sun to rise once more.1

Rise it did, for me. I heard the voice of a wizened angel, and never wanted to be without its sound again. She could never be the brilliant summer sun that had hung before, but the Sola who shines her way through the grey winter fog is every bit as beautiful when refracted in the bitter ice. And such was what she did; finding petrifying despair amid loss, she became the ray that warmed our faces when our fire had nearly burned out. We could never forget our summer star, but we could bask in the light of one whose affection was just as bright and plentiful.2

Yet the core of our new nucleus was nearing its own time to fragment into ash. Her brightness faded, though her joy was never lost to impending doom. Fury and hopelessness are a deadly Yperite when mixed with no outlet. I thought every second that I might claw out my heart that the sun might hang another day, if not for me then for the others who saw the familiar twilight settling down again. He was the home invader, the secret abuser. Just as unwelcome as he was unstoppable and omnipresent.3

At Dusk all my love went dormant forever. In company it kept joy and sorrow alike, for the night killed all patience for these as well. I have shone out my rays, I have run my orbit, and I have no more use for these feelings than the world has use for me. Some can stand upon hate to continue, but I never had much of that. I think it went before everything else.4

Looking at the night sky once more, I ask the same questions as every stargazer before me, and all who shall come hence. Again I find no answers, but perhaps the point is not to find a solution or purpose. I think it may be that the point is to realize that, in this one moment of questioning and wondering over all the same matters as every thinking person who was or will be, we are at least together, united in our yearning to understand what we may never know. One can almost hear the faint strains of a song in his ears as he feels the realization of oneness set in…5

My two suns, I hear your music, and my note will accompany one day soon.6