There is no clear demarcation of the sky. The soft pink of the setting sun that sits on the edge of summer meets the garish blue that once engulfed the city entirely. The concoction of the colors creates a smudge, a blur of light that ripples throughout the vast expanse of the sky. The sun melts into a sort of soft, mellow purple that spills onto every patch of land and every handful of water. The sunset offers solace to the weary-hearted, the lost, and the sorrowful. It keeps their words and sends them echoes through the waves that return as gentle crashes against the bridges, the wind that sweeps past the green leaves that herald the arrival of summer, and footsteps with soles scratching against the cold surface of the asphalt. The worn out travelers return to the sunset like moths around a flicker of lamplight, desperately seeking for a slumber-like consolation, a sort of reassurance. Their words are swallowed, rarely spoken back, but still comforted.
Today’s Recommendation: Chaconne- Yiruma