A Little Sunlight

The last warmth of the sun was leaving as it set over the horizon, throwing a hazy pink to every object in sight. The town was tired, even though it wasn’t even that late. People just felt done, like this one day had lasted years, and the bed was the final step to letting go.

I always have felt that the days go by so quickly- not enough hours of light packed into it for anything to be enjoyable. There’s always enough to wait- but never enough to wait long enough to feel you don’t just have to go. There’s always the planning beforehand too- which makes being somewhere at 3:00 meaning starting to leave at 12:00, and then your entire afternoon is gone.

Those little pockets of time in between too seem to be the only things about days I can remember. No matter if I’m headed to the movies or out to eat, I only ever remember those first few minutes where I’m waiting for the clock to read an exact time before rushing off. Where the minutes drip like molasses off the arms of a clock.

I brew some tea or I stash some snacks, knowing full well that I’ll never touch either. I pick a radio and pop in headphones- enjoying the first song but not paying attention to any other. I lock all the doors. I watch the clouds creep their way across the treetops. I bide time in any way so that I leave exactly on the minute, my sneakers scraping the pavement as I sling my bag over my shoulder and run off into the streets.

But then there’s also this. The feeling of the world after plans. The walk home. The clock holds no power here- it’s just you and the rest of the world waiting till the sky closes its eyes so they can too. Rinse and repeat.

The rhythm of my walk matches the slow riff flowing through my earbuds. The pavement is a drum to where I play the track of the song.

But as I feel my bag pound against the back of my legs, lazily swaying behind me, I stop.

The sun is dimming.

The pink light is almost gone.

Like a flower, I curl my body to the sun and close my eyes.

I don’t know why I didn’t choose to keep walking. All I can say is that I wanted this to be as memorable as those few minutes out the door. So I sit down, and I drink my tea.

The pink light fades away and I close my eyes.

This is something I might remember.