There is only so much to be done, only so much that can be done, seeing as only twenty-four hours exist. The same twenty-four hours, hour after hour and on and on and on. Today is the same as the day before and yesterday. One o’clock, twelve o’clock. Thirteen. I’ve seen this before. Last week and the month before, next year and the decade after. The same clock with the same hours, the same lady riding slowly on her bike. Regressive infinity.
The world gives us what we get. We have what we are given – Euphoria, Sadness. Reason, Insanity. All determined by the structure of the ground beneath our feet, and all inspired by the whispers of the trees over our heads.
I am no better than what I was at my worst. No worse than what I was at my best. Better than the ways of tomorrow yet somehow worse than how it could have been yesterday.
Wait, let the clock run down and perhaps the new sun will bring a new time and a new clock. But the wait is so long, and I can hear the footsteps of the killer sneaking up behind me, with his hands so close around my neck behind me. Ready to strike.
All the same.
And so it goes.