Sunsets look a lot like heartbreak. The final plea of of passion and desperation before an all-consuming darkness. A constellation of colors in breathtaking patterns, intricate and unique and unceasingly beautiful.

Pink for the flushed cheeks and bruised lips after hours of delicate, aggressive, feather light kisses.

Purple for the ring that glittered on my finger the first time you held my hand, stealing my breath and my heart with one grasp.

Red for the blood that sang in my veins for your every touch, the color in my cheeks following nights of unceasingly laughter in the chilled October air.

Orange for the Autumn sun ghosting over your skin, brilliant flashes of amber and apricot and champagne and tangerine that illuminated your surface and made your exterior just as radiant and exquisite as your inner core.

Yellow for the way you were my sunbeam, my guiding light among an unknown, unwavering darkness.

Blue for the aching loneliness and anger and disorientation navigating a new world without you in it. The curtain call to something that once bred promise but now only alludes to twilight and obscurity.

I can’t look at sunsets without feeling you, seeing you, tasting you, smelling you,

Loving, loving, loving you.

You can see every single sunset in your lifetime, and yet they’ll never repeat or strike you the same way.

The other night I saw one that looked just like you. The pink of your flushed cheeks. The near-plum shade your black hair took on in the moonlight. The redness of your lips pressed against mine. The orange warmth of your skin, a fire that warmed my bones and fragile soul. The golden aura that spoke of laughter and wit and boundless devotion.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I breathed in reply, his incandescence warming me one final time. “Yes he was.”