In the Arms of Night

Walking down the riverside at twilight, the sun turns red — a burning star — bleeding into the sky. A quiet star sinks, leaving whispers in its wake, and I drift in the glow, wandering wild and free. The wind whooshes softly, a melody of dusk, where shadows stretch and the earth exhales, the memory of a sun that'd been shining for days. I am one with the river, lost beneath the echoes of time. The waters, like mirrors, dance in pale moonlight, drawing secrets from the fading heavens. And the breeze, a chilly blow, cherishes my soul, while the world slips into the warm arms of night. The river, a silver thread, weaves its song, and I, a whisper in its flow. As the sky melts into shades of violet and gold, I breathe in deep, letting the moment wash over me, feeling time slip away, like the river flowing endlessly.