I look at images of big influential cities slowly embracing the evening with sunsets that turn the sky into a painting of a holy battle between the cold and the warmth. The glare of the day’s dying god bounces off the colossal glass structures diffusing into a mellow orange. I can’t help but drift off and think of the lives of the people out on those streets in that moment, holed up in their apartments, coming home from work early, putting on their shoes to go somewhere else, feeding the cats, returning from funerals, studying for an exam the next day – I try to see them all. I consider the story of each and every one of them and feel like a benevolent crease of the universe experiencing itself but then my head begins to hurt which makes me quickly stop. All of them so precious but all of them will someday cease to be. Limited and occupied, I realize, I am just like them.
And there is something very special about sunsets. People write about mornings all the time but to me, mornings feel limited – they have a single direction and purpose and are generally the same for everyone. Sunsets are where one sees possibilities. If you need to really study humans, look at them during sunsets – the variance in their plans for the remaining hours will overwhelm you. It is the time when people start getting fidgety at work, it is when the self-enforced monotony starts losing its grip. And at a particular moment, not a fixed time though, it breaks – as if it were waiting for that one streetlamp to turn on earlier than usual.
Looking far into the future, these buildings that proudly reflect the evening will also fade away into new structures of either either man or nature. Only the orange hue of days like these would probably remain. I wish it does. It is all that matters.