The Man Who Collected Sunsets
The man collected sunsets the way misers collect gold. He carried them in notebooks, jars of memory, fading photographs, and stories repeated so often they became scripture. He believed beauty could be preserved if only one looked hard enough. Yet every sunset escaped him. Every crimson horizon dissolved into darkness. Every perfect evening became another relic. In old age he discovered the secret too late: beauty survives not because we possess it, but because we release it.
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