The Shape of a Day

What is the shape of a day? Is it forged by time or a sculpture of space?

No matter how many days go on, Each day is different than the last. Sheer curiosity keeps me going through the hard times — Everything passes. Everything passes.

How much could one man endure? Sometimes patience seems like loneliness stretched out. If I can hold steady and pretend time doesn’t exist for long enough, Can I wake up with my problem solved?

The one who made them themselves. Questions perish too. All things perish.