I look into myself and find perfect emptiness. (Charles Bukowski)

First, you need to see the moment. You need to catch a glimpse of what is about to happen, of what is nascent, of what itches to be born. You need to see it before it comes into being. You need to be aware. But you also need to have something inside that drags you there… so as to see it emerging and unfolding.
Then you need to accept that some things must go so that other things may come. Some depart and others arrive. And sometimes there are things that need to go so that others can appear. There is no other way; they are incompatible, they cannot tolerate each other, they exclude one another. Sunsets have their beauty… because you know that the sun sunsets here so that it can sunrise elsewhere.
There is a moment, a fleeting moment, the moment of goodbye. It is that moment when things are not yet gone, although they know (and we know) that they’re already gone. It’s the moment of half-way gone. We call it the twilight. The twilight has a light of its own, a light like no other.
It is a moment of transcendence, a moment when it reveals what (or who) it was really all about. It reveals the hidden shapes, nuances and patterns. It reveals what was always there, in front of us, hidden in plain sight. It is transfigured. And for this reason, it is otherworldly.
The twilight lasts for some brief minutes. It decays fast. It decays into a light that becomes excessive, mundane, strident, second-hand, low-resolution. It subsides into vulgarity. You need to be present, to be aware when it happens. And to take your time to enjoy it.

People stopping on the bridge, looking silently at the sky, caught in their inner experience, blind to the outer world, being lit by the color of the evanescent sunset, like specters.

It all vanishes in the blink of an eye…