Sunset

There are those who drown with the setting sun and in the wakefulness of early morn, like the sunrise, born again each new day.

The cycle begins and ends with the sunrise and set every day, but then there are those who watch it with such a tenderness as if it's the very first and the last sunset of their life.

May be each new sunset is the very first and the very last, so is the sunrise. Every time we see it, we aren't with the same feelings. Are we?

We aren't the same person who watched the sunset a year ago, we won't be the same person to see it in another year to come. How fragile are we, we change yet we don't conform to it. We grow, we mend, we break. This entire process constantly keeps serving us, yet we refuse to understand how variable are we.

I don't know why deep down this craving for " constant " is innate to human beings. With every bit of change, one wants nothing more than going back and stay there forever. Maybe we are eternally constant, the undying, the unfading; the amaranthine.