It was a day with a lot of ways to die packed in it.

Things can change in a day.

Between going and staying the day wavers,

Daytime was a shift, each one endured like a quantum of life, all the short-term planning leading up to another bout of darkness, little thought given to stringing those days into something useful, some chain of valuable pearls. Just another day to survive.

A day, a livelong day, is not one thing but many. It changes not only in growing light toward zenith and decline again, but in texture and mood, in tone and meaning, warped by a thousand factors of season, of heat or cold, of still or multi winds, torqued by odors, tastes, and the fabrics of ice or grass, of bud or leaf or black-drawn naked limbs. And as a day changes so do its subjects, bugs and birds, cates, dogs, butterflies and people.

But there was never any knowing or any certitude; the time to come always had more than one possible direction. One could not even give up hope. The wind would blow, the sand would settle, and in some as yet unforeseen manner time would bring about a change which could only be terrifying, since it would not be a continuation of the present.

That was a horrific night, as you can imagine. You know, there’s many nuances and complexities to it, but at the end of the day, I just, I lost it, you know? And I guess what I would say, you just never know what somebody’s going through. In the audience right now, you are sitting next to strangers, and somebody’s mother died last week, somebody’s child is sick, somebody just lost their job, somebody just found out their spouse cheated. You just don’t know what is going on with people. And I was going through something that night. Not that that justifies my behavior at all.

It was a night replaying its corrosive recurrence on the road of our lives, on the road which was hungry for great transformations.

The day had been spent in the expectation of these hours, and now they were crumbling away, becoming, in their turn, another period of expectancy...It was a journey without end, leading to an indefinite future, eternally shifting just as she was reaching the present.

Any day you wake up, maybe you die.

That beautiful day passed just as the saddest ones do, since the most radiant of days has a tomorrow.

Will the day tell its secret before it disappears, becomes timeless night.

The afternoon moved like lava.

The day, even when it is at the longest, is quickly spent.