By Lilian St. Clair-Foster, TIWP Student

I sit.

My legs dangling over the branch I’m perched on as I wait,
wait for the clock to strike time.

I’ve always loved sunsets, the hot golden yellow of the sun melting away to seafoam blues and royal purples, looking like paint draped down a canvas.
Like heaven at earth’s door.

My mom used to tell me stories about the sun,
how it used to be a beautiful girl.
She had vivid locks of copper hair, wild and untamed like fire, and draped on her body was a shining cloth of orange and red. Her skin was the color of gold and just as smooth, with a smile so bright even a blind person could see it.
But even though the sun was beautiful, she was wicked.
Obsessed with looks and a personality so angry it scorched the earth.

My mom also told me of the moon.
A sweet young man, tall, lengthy with skin smooth as glass, crooked teeth and hair of deep sea blue. His smile was small and insecure but could end battles with a personality that could only be described as tranquility.

But even the moon isn’t immune to the sun’s charms. He fell head over heels, tripping over his own feet as he tried to catch up to her.
But the sun didn’t like his looks, and she told him so.
Each insult she threw his way chipped away at his facade leaving craters in their wake.
But he was too in love to care.
He continued to chase her, so she ran.

And now, as I sit on my branch and watch as the sun retreat, I wait for the moon, hoping he can get over his infatuation.