I saw the days of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another was sleep, like a black shade. … - Sylvia Plath

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I saw the days of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another was sleep, like a black shade. Only for me, the long perspective of shades that set off one box from the next day had suddenly snapped up, and I could see day after day after day glaring ahead of me like a white, broad, infinitely desolate avenue.