I love the red winter sun, the way it shimmers into existence from the arcane night sky. I can never find a good word to describe its color, as if the tangerine light was the beginning of any such definition. I watch it move across the walls, searching for the contours of my face and want to give myself to it completely. Just that one moment, as it crests the tenuous horizon, as if a life was born, lived and died all caught within the wavering slender light of winter's morn.



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