Questions for a Dying Day
QUESTIONS FOR A DYING DAY
On this last drive down the edge of the only place I will ever call home, I turn my head and watch the sun sink. I don’t want it to vanish. I don’t want this day to end. I never want to leave. Will you open your arms and fly with me into the blue? Into the final glow of red? Can we dissolve in the alchemy of ocean, fog, and the last smear of light? Will you take the leap with me? Will you stand on this edge and remember me? For a moment I become the last bit of light. I hold on tight. I eat up the sinking globe as if I am starving. I chew color with my eyes until they are flecked with a thousand refractions of a dying day. I never want this moment to disappear. But it does. Everything does. Will you follow me into the abyss? Will you wait for me when I fade with the day? Will your memory of me be as wide and deep as the sea? Or will the warmth of my body next to yours fade with the sun, recede with the tide? Will you always look at this edge and remember this is the only place that will ever be my home? Will you stare into the deep blue and see me looking back at you? Will you come back? Will you remember?