It was a locket, tiny, metal, tarnished, old, done. Finished. We were together and we loved, and don't you find yourself missing those days, my own? I remember we had promised to be together forever, yet I look off to the horizon and I see nothing but the sunset, orange and red and echoing the night to come, with its stillness and its depth. Sunsets happen so fast, as if all the turmoil of the day is just screaming to become done and undone.
Now I am left, watching sunsets, gazing over the skyline, rough, unnatural, beautiful. Or is it modern, strong, and harsh? Coffee now tastes bitter, no longer pleasant, and the sepia-tones of you belongs to my mind's eye, and I cannot seem to pull you from it. I remember music and it was technicolor. I remember dancing and it was living.