Ah, the sunset. I take great pleasure from staring at that orange gob of light before the earth completely devours it. It would've been better if it weren't for the neighborhood rooftops that block the display of warm colors at its grandest, when it starts to trace the silhouettes of the mountains. No matter, it works regardless, and my complaints are minimal. I lay motionless. A guitar within arm's reach. Here. This is my room on an afternoon. Welcome.
A few years from now, I will be leaving this place. And even later my family will follow suit. This room, this house will be deserted. It will be dirty with dust and cobwebs in every corner, floors will give in to the slightest weight, and windows will be host to vines that go in every direction in the midst of broken jalousies. The sound of crickets will be louder. The croaks of frogs, much easier to discern. All these new creatures and green foliage will marvel at this ancient man-made fortress while through its windows, the sunset will continue to paint it orange. Always.
This room will be an old storyteller one day. It will share a story of sadness & joy, of music & dissonance, of love, and of a boy, who once stared through its windows at that emanating gob of light to the west.
~ July 2008
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