“Am I a bad person,” she hesitantly asked like I was going to answer yes. Like I was going to respond in any way other than she was the sunset. That’s all she was really, good. I didn’t love her in the simplistic way she expected I suppose. Maybe she didn’t get it, maybe I didn’t, we’d probably never have a chance in this world, but a bad person? Never. She was the kind of person I could set on fire and she’d thank me and say she was cold anyhow. Even if I tried, I couldn’t find anything wrong. I wish someone near her would tell her everyday it was okay. That she was going to be okay because they wouldn’t let her live it alone. I worried for her at night but I couldn’t stop her. Who am I? Nobody. I’m just someone who wished she loved somebody who deserved it. But a bad person? No. She was the sunset. She was fire, rain, wind. She bled every element and I never wanted to be so well weathered. I liked who she was when she thought nothing of herself, that’s when her paintings were most extravagant. Her soul crimson, her heart ash. Her soul and mine, created over the same salt water. She was a pier, a mindful place full of waves. Bewildered in the eyes of the crowds that surround her being, but never a bad person.
Alexandra L. Narron