I stand at the very edge of tomorrow looking back at yesterday. Holding that moment clutched in my hand, when night first turns to day. I can see the sun, the moon, the stars like jackstones at my feet. While by the door, time just stands tapping out a beat. The universe yawns and stretches across the vast, dark sea. Knowing this long, lazy dawn will last an eternity. My eyes are drawn to the shuffling sound of time as he moves on. Always forward. Always forward. Always, all alone. Through the doorway lies the future. Endless miles of narrow halls. With windows of opportunity lining every wall. Itβs here and now that really counts. For nothing else is real. The past is dead and ground to dust under times never ceasing wheel. The future is a waking dream we act out every day. Built on mist and held in place by nothing more than faith. Slowly, slowly I open my hand to the purple, pink, predawn. Knowing that everything before this moment is forever gone.