Keagan Giblin

Sitting by where the gulf meets the sand on a neon striped chair 

with my feet fully under a thin layer of powder sand  

I realized the sun is making its descent in the paper flat water. 

It’s perfect tonight. I can tell the clouds are corroborating 

as they are out of the way of the view

and taking on the reflection of the sun’s colors 

turning all shades of pink + white and orange 

above around me.  

I have lost track of time, in every sense of the phrase. 

How have I been at the beach for three hours? 

How have I been living in my hometown for the past month? 

How can it be that it has now been a whole month since I have been living in my Manhattan apartment? 

How do I still have no plan for the future? 

I was supposed to be back in New York after two weeks. 

That was the plan, that’s what everyone thought, 

or assumed. 

But in a case like this, I guess there is no room to assume.  

It was in this moment of watching the world around me get darker 

as the sun says goodbye for the day that

I realized sunsets get me sentimental. 

Here I was watching another day end with the same troubles and worries still chained to my feet.

It is making me think of how many sunsets I have left to watch 

and if I will still be watching on my familiar 8th Avenue South spot.