yellow daisies in the sky

Have you ever watched a sunset from an aircraft?

It’s a breathtaking experience, really, while you sit there by your window and the world smells like formality and boredom. You press your fingers lightly over the cool glass as the sunlight streams in, blinding.

You notice the colours of the clouds that float below you as they begin to turn golden like someone just went ‘whoopsies!’ and dropped a sackful of pixie dust all over them. You watch the clear, perfect azure soften into a pale orange-yellow and remember the dewdrops on your feet when you ran wild and free in a meadow full of yellow daisies and not a care in the world could hold you back.

The darkening orange lost all reason as you lay there; and the smell of wet earth and new grass, left you more awake than you had ever been; and you just lay there, still, your tiny fingers feeling the damp ground in wonderment, as the ever-lively robin red-breasted decided to sing you a melody.

The azure darkens further and the orange condenses into a narrow, sharp streak of blood-red, marking your lifetime (and that of all mankind in the vastness of all existence) between the vast ocean of clouded reality and darkness; between the moment you knew; and the first time it broke your heart.

And then it blends into the backdrop like everything else, like all the times when you wanted to care, or, when you really did, but realized that it probably wasn’t worth the pain; and like all the times that you never thought twice about caring, let alone loving, before right now:

The yellow daisies fade to a grayscale in the moonlight.

T. E. Pyrus


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