My heart is so tired - Markus Zusak

It kills me sometimes, how people die.

I think she ate a salad and some soup.
And loneliness.
She ate that, too.

People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.