there is no beauty in sadness. only more of the same.

The sound of the setting sun on a road of gentle change.  The fading footsteps of your loved one.

I was driving south at sunset, leaving the East Bay with its memories of a tormented young adult squandering the promise of the world laid before her.  The sky was ablaze in magenta and coral light, spilled shamelessly across the deepening blue.

It was beauty, and I was leaving, and it felt so familiar.  The familiarity was what broke my heart.  I was always a shy little coyote, always slinking away with my tail tucked from the most brilliant moments, romances, friendships, opportunities, into the dark and the cold.  It was what I deserved, wretched thing I was.  The twilight horizon on the road ahead of me suddenly felt too heavy to bear.  I wanted to jump out of the car, and leap into those intense clouds of color behind me.  I was overwhelmed with grief.  It felt like getting run over by an 18-wheeler would be worth being in that light for a mere split second.

"There she was," passerby would think to themselves, as they drove past my road-kill-carcass on the median the next day.  "At least she's out of her misery."