Darkness is a choice here. It doesn’t show up and absorb the end of the day like you’d expect.

The sun only pretends to set. It knows all of the cues to say nightfall is coming. The sky turns orange, and the light keeps getting better. The next several hours are like a sunset on pause.

My bedroom window faces due north, and I don’t want to close the shade for a fear of missing out. Choosing darkness feels like a consession. As I try to fall asleep, I think about how the passage of time imbues everything with urgency and poignancy. Even the glow of a sunset can grow stale, and pierce its own wonder.

I look at my phone. It says the next sunset is in nine days.

2023