But You Should Have Heard What Was Coming Out of My Mouth (Day three hundred twenty-two), originally uploaded by Madame Meow.
Just because something is trite, doesn't make it less of a sentiment or less of a truth.
Yes, it's trite: said a million times before, sometimes inelegantly and mostly clumsily, but if it's been said it's most likely because it's the truth.
Is a sunset any less beautiful– any less a sunset– because it's been oohed and aahed and admired and sighed the world over?
Does it magically become high noon or sunrise, just because you happened to call it sunset yet again? It couldn't be anything other than what it is– and yet–
And yet, some sunsets are more sunset-magical than others, are they not?
Some days, we remember that fateful, iconoclastic, sweetly sorrowful moment where the illusion of light is shattered and we come face to face with the impending darkness that surrounds us as we hurtle through space within this squashed sphere we call earth.
Some sunsets, though sunset be a trite word, are more than just sunsets.
And yet, we still call them that.