The Border That Holds the Sun
The flags of all nations, tucked away in the distant folds of my memory, waited—weary in the shadow of a corner. They once stirred the air with excitement, drawing children—ever thirsty for new delights—into the rapture of a day called Sports Festival. The sky, the flags, and the cradle of students still too unripe—they all hold the setting sun within them, divided by a single invisible border. Slightly less than a third—and yet, because of that, perhaps the sky I sought to paint came to occupy a space larger than I ever imagined. Only now, at last, can even my meager care brush past those hands that once strove to make those flags flutter. The setting sun, at times, reminds us of the border between today and tomorrow.