Passing Time, Volume 311


Monday is a done day.

Tuesday will be finished before the Finnish find out.

Wednesday awaits in the clouds.

Thursday wonders when it will be taken seriously.

Friday invokes the divine.

Each day another ripple toward the middle of nowhere.

The days pass without notice until the night begins.

A smile in the bark of the tree.

A tear in the skies.

A question that went unasked.

An absence.

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