found via baanbrekend
At that moment, all you could hear were the crickets. I felt the wetness of the cold stone wall start to seep slowly through my pants. The chirping was an orchestra of ticking clocks, as it died down, the sun began to rise. In the distance, the sky was slowly turning into a watercolor wash of orange, purple and blue. I forgot if the sun rose from the east or west, but I marveled at how the light is in the skies. The light always wins, and darkness loses like a wimp, letting go of its reign so freely. Then again, winning isn't forever and during the deep PM, the skies turn black. Sometimes though, I forget which time belongs to which and when I look up, I realize that it's dusk and the sun is setting. The light was dimming.
