what time is it?

a reflection

the sunset did not fade and nor did it want to. it simply wanted to rest in the sublime fixture of the setting sun. wait, no it didn’t. it was forced to.

the sunset did not move. not because it did not want to. but because it was made fixed; the sunset remained. nothing more to be said.

folks below the sunset did not understand. “Why is it not getting lighter?” murmured some, “What’s sunrise?” said others, after time passed.

the grass faded. the flowers wilted. no one noticed until it started to all grow black. then they wept. the sun reached its zenith below the set. and stayed that way.

“What’s light?” asked some, “Where are my keys?” asked others. with no light - none at all - these tend to become fascinations, until they’re not. “I’m glad I can’t see you,” thought some, “At least my nose isn’t as big anymore!” thought others. at last, the sun rose.

this begat disgust. disgust begat nostalgia. nostalgia begat more disgust. “Why are you here?” thought the man, “Ew! Look at the color of that dress!” thought others. the sun didn’t care. it stayed in the air as long as a day, set into the night — resetting time. restoring normalcy. until, one day, it stopped.