The Sun Also Sinks
Visualising herself, as if she were another, a difficult realisation unfolds across her mind. She is a little shocked to see, saddened to picture, how her solitary state has gradually descended upon her, whilst she, in the thick of it, didn’t always seem aware.
In recent years, of course, she has been less inclined to seek out company, the slowly declined guests not missed greatly; they were already beginning to wear her out, even back then.
She gently lifted the glass and drew a slow sip. The true heat has left this day, and the very slightest hint of cool is welcomed by her cheeks. Not for long.
Looking further back a sense forms, a feeling of slow isolation. Life is merely, perhaps, a journey to loneliness.
“Am I lonely?” she asks, not knowing whether aloud or not.
A few years ago the answer would have been a firm no. Automatically she feels it now, before pausing to savour her drink and her aloneness. Oh, she realises. I am. So very, very lonely.
It was more common back then, of course, and now she sees her mother’s maternal death as the beginning. At the very moment she is brought together for this brief rest from oblivion, the very vessel from which she emerged is returned, spinning in fragments into the dark nothingness.
That was, of course, just a beginning. Since then, her own only child, her closest partner in life, and now the myriad orbits that have clashed with hers. Gone. All gone, she wants to shout it across the plain towards the great orange orb, still pulsating with intense power.
Yet she sees it, now, as it too disappears. “The sun also sinks”, she reflects, “I am quite alone.”
Today I wrote between 22:50 and 23:00. I was prompted by an idea here.
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