It’s small days like these, when our limbs lose strength and our eyelids crave for a rest.
Days that make bridges in between, lengthening and shortening time, making eternal afternoons, speed-like reads.
Days when you can’t tell the difference between two shades of grey and cannot possibly meander on the significance of it.
Small days like these when the bravado of our spirit is put to test. When the endeavour is to get by and simply sink in what we know, what constrains us from further enquirement.
It’s small days like these that build up.
Small days that build a wall.
A small wall, then just a wall.