Sunset Stop
written by: C. Oulens
They should have stopped the day they sat on the roof of a high terrace, calves and feet cantilevered on its free edge. Blood roaring against gravity, lending colour to a blushing dawn.
They should have stopped because they should have known this love was amiss, and the kiss was just like a kiss. And the sun they waited for—over the river of the city’s pain, as stars and streetlights faded—was only the daily sun.
They should have known that the walk at dawn down that long road was merely with one hand in one hand, on two plus two feet, and not on some fantasmic bird’s wings.
It was strange, indeed, that they did not stop even then. Plucking common champas from low hangs dotted along the way. Laughter bubbles spilling, thrumming its branches. Running around to collect falling flowers—blooming birds of paradise.
Who even thought champas could survive a love bargain?—Not a fancy bouquet. Not a bunch of nargis. Not even a rose stem.
They should have stopped right then instead of dismissing the fragrant sun-kiss, post many moons of bleak and bliss. They should have stopped twenty years ago. Or thirty, maybe. What’s in a number? It could be zero or any.
They should have stopped before the sun set.
Or before they met.
- Sunset Stop - March 2, 2026
