/lit/ - Literature

The sun was setting and the tips of the buildings were all aflame; I sat in my apartment blind to that glorious rage. She was in the building opposite, the window second from the top. The light was slowly escaping her and she was leaning out with her eyes closed and smiling, nearly falling trying to feel all its warmth. I loved watching her because she seemed so alive, so grand as the sun was bouncing off her. She alone was my sunset, my early moon. She managed not only to reflect but mimic that rage I so desperately craved, and with fingers up and grasping delicately those last rays, she left as the sun did.

>>9465171
I fucking love storms so I can't crit this negatively, but I would read. Perhaps you do it later but knowing what the boy is wearing early would better paint whatever sort of society he belongs to.


I'm not good at critique but there's mine, and here's my shit:
The sun was setting and the tips of the buildings were all aflame; I sat in my apartment blind to that glorious rage. She was in the building opposite, the window second from the top. The light was slowly escaping her and she was leaning out with her eyes closed and smiling, nearly falling trying to feel all its warmth. I loved watching her because she seemed so alive, so grand as the sun was bouncing off her. She alone was my sunset, my early moon. She managed not only to reflect but mimic that rage I so desperately craved, and with fingers up and grasping delicately those last rays, she left as the sun did.

>Pic is related