The sun sets with a streak of red, wounded and bruised from the day’s battle. The sky only knows the colour of death, then. Because the day ends and so does a part of us. What we are left are shadows of regret and clouds of sadness. But we love it anyway. We love it because we see a depression outside of us that might actually reflect our own.
Eventually it rises again. The sunrise creeps in with a hopeful orange. No, it does not push away the darkness – it illuminates them. It shows us that there had always been something to light up. And we cannot help but romanticise because the truth is, we wish there was some sort of sunrise in ourselves.
In all honesty – I wouldn’t be able to tell. But here they are, same place different timings. Both with so different meanings. If you really have to know – the left’s a sunrise, followed by a sunset.