Thursday, April 7, 2011

probably the first paragraph in a chapter of some book i might one day write, maybe

It was the time of day when you wouldn't know, upon looking at the sun, if it was dawn or dusk. It was the type of evening when everything seemed fresh and new, even the birds were singing as if they had a day yet to live. But the memories of the day reminded her what time it was, and she was saddened by the truth that the day she had been looking forward to had ended. How another day could give her the same joy she had felt that day, she doubted to be possible.

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