Trickling down from the dark blue
into wild violet
blending into passionate red
feeding into the oranges and yellows that are the last memory of
The sun.
I look at that moment happen every day as I take the long walk back to my apartment.
Men scream slurs and derogatory terms at me
a touch of loud radios
the screech of a motorcycle
That is the symphony.
Breathing in car fumes and softly cooking food, I walk. I think.
A cold customer, imagine of a cake in their face comes to mind.
I wonder what tomorrow brings.
Will I see you again? Will we really tango this time?
I walk from day into night as the sun makes its exit,
the moon takes its place –
sitting in its guard tower as
We walk mischievously through the shadows it cannot reach.
I walk through the night, hoping to see your face.
I walk through the night.
Brenna Renée Writes 