The sun is setting as I sit at my desk. It hits me in such a way that I turn towards it and frown, bothered by how it's aimed directly into my eyes. Waving, flickering, this is its last moment before it disappears behind that warehouse. And like a light bulb before it blackens, or a moth before the first light of day, like a terminally ill patient on her last day, the raging orange is its strongest, this giant ball of fire in the sky.
You told me that I look beautiful in this light.
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