The Pocket Full Of Sunsets

When Maya was ten, she discovered she could catch sunsets.

As the sky blazed orange and gold, she would open a glass jar and trap a sliver of evening inside. Each jar held a memory—a bicycle ride, her grandmother’s laugh, a perfect summer day.

Years later, winter swallowed the town.

Snow fell endlessly. Rivers froze. The sun became a pale ghost behind clouds.

The townspeople grew cold in more ways than one.

Maya carried her collection to the town square. One by one, she opened the jars.

Golden light spilled into the streets.

By spring, every sunset was gone.

But every heart was warm again.