Days are all their own, they do not return, they are not repeated. The illusion of next year is a hope trick, daily survival is what matters. Daily striving. Daily thriving. Daily giving.
Whisper into the microphone a bit louder, your words are slurring, sir. A real thin skinner, like a glossy paste. Save the sympathy, let humility lurk, let karma come around. What goes up must come down. The blood, the sweat, and the tears.
