Writing a letter

It seems that we are all just fireflies floating in the rays of a setting sun. Our spontaneous colors are a reminder that a flame that once burned bright is no longer around.
And that, well that's the shit that can keep a man up at night. Keep a man aching because of the cold bedside he occupies. That's the shit that cuts deeper than any knife or blade.
Writing a letter.
It's kind of like taking a leap from a sixty foot cliff. Will there be water at the bottom to cradle you gently?