sillylittleone

It always happens right before sunset. That particular time of day when the sun is a massive burning disk hanging just above the horizon. That particular space in the day where everything is painted in orange and copper and it’s impossible to tell what the original color might have been. Those few minutes before the sun sinks below the hill and for the moment your shadow stretches out for miles behind you, a natural caricature of yourself. In truth, it’s the perfect time for this to happen and that’s probably why it was made that way. I love that time of day so naturally my mind would place you there in that perfect setting jus

There is an emptiness in leaving, taking down the memories and packing them away. There is a harshness in leaving, boxing up a life and sending it away. There is a strangeness in leaving, walking through old spaces and saying goodbye before you're gone. There is a sadness in leaving, becoming a stranger in a place that once was home. There is a finality in leaving, because this time you know there will be no coming back.