The sun rises this day the same as every day: slow, steady, up and up, burning bright beyond my reach.
Strange, how it was and always is a lovely, summer morning. I prefer rain--it matches my gray and shifting mood. I've forgotten more than I remember and most of what I remember are ghosts from faded photographs and other people’s stories. Except this: I remember love.
The sun sets this day the same as every day: rushing, falling too-fast below the horizon and out of sight.
At the beginning of everything, the end.
And at the end, a beginning.