His eyes were burning after watching television, in an air conditioned room for the past three hours. It was about 5 o clock, almost time for the sunset.

He went on the terrace. The wind ruffled his hair, and the sky broke out in a symphony sung by sparrows, as if to welcome him into their world. He sat on the edge, dangling his legs, and soaking in the mere beauty of the sky. Soon, it got dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun-the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgundy red, the fields-the color of love and Spanish dancers. As he watched on, the sky draped itself in a gown of a million hues, and showed off her beautiful tresses. He was engulfed in an ocean of red, yellow, orange, and pink.

And, in that moment, without speaking a word, the sunset taught him what life is about. Ribboned in pink and purple, she spoke of harmony and peace, Scratches of red spoke of love, Fading shades of yellow spoke of hope. Scratches of blue spoke of calmness, and the darkening shades of orange spoke of an adventure. An adventure, called life. And somehow, he knew, somewhere, a poet had got the topic for his next poem, an artist had gotten the inspiration for his next painting, and a photographer had gotten his best photo.

He did not snap a picture on his phone and post it on Instagram, with a cheesy caption. He knew that it would get him likes, but not what was really important. So he snapped a Polaroid. He went to his room, and put it up on his wall, with a single line written in marker underneath

“Watch sunsets, not Netflix”