Notice how Dusk dangles the moon before your eyes?
How it can sense your desire to skip the few abounding pages before the end. Can’t you tell it can see through the vacant veneer you used to fill those unlettered conversations? Can’t you tell it heard your baby whimpers while you sat on the toilet fully-clothed. Bladder, tear-ducts, and heart emptied like a raisin.
“You’re wasting time.” It whispers. “And wasted time is wasting you.”

Notice how Dawn dangles the sun before your face?
How it can taste your yearning for a new beginning. Can’t you tell that it watched you as you close your eyes and pretended to sleep like a child waiting for Christmas morning? Can’t you tell it heard you counting aloud the sheep being chased by packs of hungry wolves?
“One… two… back to one… two… three…”
“You can’t avoid dreams forever.” It whispers. “And you can’t expect them to stick around.”

Notice how Day dangles time before you?
How the clock tick-tocks, mirroring the pulse of your heart.
Can’t you tell it observed you ignore every bashful serendipity and neglect every delicate opportunity? Couldn’t you see its silhouette waiting silently outside your window, hoping you would pull aside your dusty curtains, open it and take its hand?
“I’m here. Right here.” It whispers. “Not behind you, not in front of you. I’m right next to you.”

For a second, you hear it.
You pull out your ear plugs and say, “Did someone call my name?”
Your fellow office employees respond “Nope!” in perfect unison.
So you plug yourself back up and return to your duties,
sighing superficially
about the borders of our lives.