Last Dance In Sunset
The sky turned orange for us,
like it knew goodbyes should look like fire
before they turn to ash.
We’re laughing under it,
but it’s a thin, breaking kind of laugh —
the kind you use when your chest hurts.
You tease me. I tease you back.
Trading words like we’re trading heartbeats,
like if we keep talking,
we won’t have to hear the ending.
Your hand in mine.
Both of us pretending
we don’t feel how cold my fingers are getting.
We spin slow, so slow,
like the slower we move,
the longer the sun might stay.
We sway from side to side,
Basking in the cool, autumn breeze.
We watch as golden leaves fall from their trees,
Mirroring our relationship as it slowly reaches its end.
But the pathway ahead is wide.
And empty.
And no one’s coming to save us from it.
Last hugs.
I held too tight.
Last kisses.
I tasted salt.
Last time you lead me through our final dance,
count the beats I couldn't hear,
and call it grace.
The music's stopped.
But my feet still remember how to break.
Your head finds my shoulder
like it’s done a thousand times before.
You whisper about my two left feet.
And I’m laughing — God, I’m laughing —
but it’s wet, and it shakes,
because if I stop,
the silence will rush in
and fill the space where your name
used to mean tomorrow.
I’m trying to memorize you.
The sound. The weight. The way you fit here.
For when the dark comes.
And it’s coming. I can feel it
in my bones.
The orange sky goes thin.
Paper-thin.
The music’s gone. We knew it would be.
We turn to leave, and I can’t look at you.
If I do, I won’t go.
But our shadows still hold hands
across the wide pathway —
one last, foolish, broken thing
that doesn’t know we’re done.
Then the sun slips below the edge of the world.
And they let go.
Like it didn’t hurt.
Like they weren’t us.
Sunset.
And I’m still cold.
May 4
May 4, 2026 at 6:04 PM UTC
Last Dance In Sunset
The sky turned orange for us,
like it knew goodbyes should look like fire
before they turn to ash.
We’re laughing under it,
but it’s a thin, breaking kind of laugh —
the kind you use when your chest hurts.
You tease me. I tease you back.
Trading words like we’re trading heartbeats,
like if we keep talking,
we won’t have to hear the ending.
Your hand in mine.
Both of us pretending
we don’t feel how cold my fingers are getting.
We spin slow, so slow,
like the slower we move,
the longer the sun might stay.
We sway from side to side,
Basking in the cool, autumn breeze.
We watch as golden leaves fall from their trees,
Mirroring our relationship as it slowly reaches its end.
But the pathway ahead is wide.
And empty.
And no one’s coming to save us from it.
Last hugs.
I held too tight.
Last kisses.
I tasted salt.
Last time you lead me through our final dance,
count the beats I couldn't hear,
and call it grace.
The music's stopped.
But my feet still remember how to break.
Your head finds my shoulder
like it’s done a thousand times before.
You whisper about my two left feet.
And I’m laughing — God, I’m laughing —
but it’s wet, and it shakes,
because if I stop,
the silence will rush in
and fill the space where your name
used to mean tomorrow.
I’m trying to memorize you.
The sound. The weight. The way you fit here.
For when the dark comes.
And it’s coming. I can feel it
in my bones.
The orange sky goes thin.
Paper-thin.
The music’s gone. We knew it would be.
We turn to leave, and I can’t look at you.
If I do, I won’t go.
But our shadows still hold hands
across the wide pathway —
one last, foolish, broken thing
that doesn’t know we’re done.
Then the sun slips below the edge of the world.
And they let go.
Like it didn’t hurt.
Like they weren’t us.
Sunset.
And I’m still cold.
Poem 1 of The Sunset Trilogy.
Poem 2: A Forever Midnight coming soon.
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