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By Jonah Levy


Thought it was the last sunset.

Forgot that it would be there tomorrow,

that I'd be there tomorrow,

that anything would be there.

Thought that it just ended after this,

that it would be dark and light would become my imaginary friend.

Because how often does something that pretty happen more than once?

How often does something make everything else background noise?

Every thought, every intuition, every single thing we love and know pauses for just one second while the sun says goodnight.

How can something so important be so far away?

Something so important that we can’t even touch it.

Something so important that it says

bye to us when it goes home.

And on its best days we can't even look at it.

The only reason I'm alive, the only thing that makes me feel warm, and I can't even look at it.

Not until it waves goodbye, not until it's bleeding across my horizon, and not until today was yesterday and tomorrow is on its way.

But it makes sense,

People are spoiled.

Things once precious are just regular now.

Seems like Mother Nature is the last real parent.

Like Father Nature awarded bad behavior, got kicked out and now punches holes in the moon.

He’s far from the day and forgot about his sun a long time ago.

Yet mother reminds us everyday that they're numbered,

that we would die without her, that she’s fed up and will do what is necessary.

She doesn't need us

and can make seven billion just like us.

But who cares, right?

We probably won’t even be here when she snaps.



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