the whole thing is sort of amazing, really. dusky purple overtaking flames of orange that die quietly at our fingertips. the end of an era each evening as we gaze longingly toward the west. there is magic in the twilight hours, as we've all come to know. i find myself waiting impatiently for those moments, pacing back and forth across the floor as if waiting for a lover.
the dream crossed twilight between birth and dying.
-t.s. eliot
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