I woke up early to a world of possibility. Although each day generally floods over to the next and routines and formalities wrestle my time away, there is a sense of renewal at the start of a day. Slowly opportunities close, the light of the day begins to fade and I am met with the decision of sleep. A few times I protest to the end, staying awake and prolonging the meager minutes and hours I have left. Still other times I concede to the quickness of time, slumbering off to bed, content or uncontent with the tasks I’ve done throughout the day. And yet there are other times. The one’s where a sense of the end is near, that although I have much time left, leave me with a taste of unfulfilled expectation. I wait and think upon the day, no longer striving and working as I usually do, yet I am met with a silence to my answers. I have not died yet, but I feel the presence of the thoughts of a dying day.