{Dear Sunset}

Dear Sunset,

I saw you last night. I saw the gold and the purple and the pink you streaked across the sky, so slyly preparing the world for pitch darkness which would over us like tar. Your beauty knew it wouldn't last: knew it was the forerunner to a blackout.

Children see you and remember that they are afraid of the dark.

You see trench coats and daggers, pistols and masks. In a facade of glory you light the last few minutes for the preparations of what happens what happens once you fade. In a charade of iridescent comeliness, you scheme with the men of the earth as they twiddle their thumbs and crack their knuckles and bide their time until you whisper goodnight and they can begin their reign of terror.

The innocent know, in that moment, that their streets are no longer lit.

You invite shadows to reappear. You beg fright to take hold. You cheat restless souls out of peace.

The smile your colors hold is deceiving as the plots are laid, the nocturnal wake up, and the chase begins. Your warmth and your beauty melt as quickly as the promises of the criminals who, in daytime, said they would amend their ways.

Night always comes after day. You always make sure of that.

I saw you last night, and I shuddered, because I finally know what it is you do. You pave the way for darkness.

And sunset, I am writing you because even though I know who are, you do not scare me.

I refuse to be afraid of you.

I refuse to be afraid of the dark.