I like my suns broken and sinking. Rising suns are too innocent and fresh, new born. But the dying is dramatic and beautiful. They've been written on. They've seen the day from start to finish - wise and ready to end. Tonight's started with neon bars laid in stripes across the sky. Orange with the slightest tinge of pink. Periwinkle, almost lavender, lay between each bar. Just when I thought it couldn't grow brighter, the neon became streaks of wild fire burning lines into the heavens. It was glorious, and I hope my end is as colorful and glorious as the sun's.
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