Watching the sunset hurts sometimes

You know?
It's like finding old celery in the crisper
but not knowing how old
until the stalk is lathered in peanut butter
then chomp.
Two weeks too old.

It hurts
because sometimes you're alone
in a park, picking at your flip flop.
The sky turns Easter.
Clouds burn and shrivel.
You just want the day to end,
then the Earth spins backwards
trying to milk forty-three more seconds
out of the day
and all you want to do is crawl into a mountain
of Ikea and breathe in down comforter
like it was the last six molecules of oxygen.

Other times, you're with the girl you love.
You aren't paying attention to clouds
or a sunset.
Imagine the sun whining, it feels neglected.
It wants your girl
or at the very least,
to be watched.
The sun wishes it had a lap
so the girl could fold her pigtails behind her ears
and cradle hands
and let out drawn sighs into your legs.
Enjoy this,
because somebody's jealous,
even if it's just the sun.