The morning comes more quickly. It seems like barely minutes pass, and then tomorrow swiftly slides into the present. Like the invisible, kinetic shift in time that somehow the world dedicates itself too. The sun slowly rises, and as it stretches to yawn and radiates its glow upon the face of our little planet, generations of creatures make their way through the duration of their lives.
All in a day.
3384, 22 867, 11 254. We are all counting days until our final one. An accumulation of a measurement. We are all here, living for something, and sometimes when there's nothing left else...
There's tomorrow.
In the meantime, we work and pay bills, go our own ways, live to get by. Happiness has been tagged and it's not something you can put on the credit card. Instead, we use cards and coins to purchase enough just to feel like we have died successful. We bury ourselves alive in our luxuries. We enslave ourselves to whatever it is we are told to.
It's enough blogging. Now comes a journal, and book.
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