I imagined a magnificent sunset, interlaced with mauve and coral ribbons, tangerine clouds, and a warm, copper glow basking over the distant ocean line. Instead I got turbulent rains, gusts of piercing spears hurled from the east, all bursting from unhappy black clouds, which had eaten my perfect, papaya sun.
Angry slaps of rain pelted the porch, warning me to stay inside. If I knew what was good for me. If I wanted to escape their battle unscathed. I heard the ocean waves moan for reprieve, a break from the rage that blasted them from above. Knowing their wrenching pain, I touched my chest and lamented their woeful call. When the parental sun was supposed to be creeping from the room, leaving them in the tender care of watchful stars, a fitful storm was rocking the seas, rustling them to stay awake in the wrath of an inconsolable night.
My sunset in the west was an unfulfilled dream, the peace I sought not meant to be. It was flailing winds, charcoal lines etched in war-torn skies, and a fury of heaven’s tears that dragged me into the pitch-black hole where nightmares awaited.