When the sun slips beneath the horizon,
it leaves behind a crimson echo.
A melody played in reverse,
each note a whisper of warmth.
I stand here, chained to the moments,
to sunsets fading into memory,
their light stretching back in time,
unraveling threads of yesterday.
Each sunset a part of a forgotten symphony,
a canvas painted in hues of grief and joy,
a reflection of what is lost,
and what never was to begin with.