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There is always this part of a Sunday, when for a brief moment, you sense it had crossed a line in order to unfold to a Monday. It’s not a tangible line. It’s not something you see, hear, touch, smell, or taste. But it is something you sense with your spirit, an innocuous flaw between the theories and laws of time, just barely found in the observable seconds of a day. It happens right before sundown, when the sun itself has gently crept to a horizon, desperate in all her affairs, only to set aside such weak and faint rays to brighten the rest of the earth.

I always find myself worrying about being in such an ephemeral state. How soon the weekend faded, and how, perhaps when work has piled up, and vodka has chased away the blues, that same weekend would fade into complete obscurity. How soon the day’s shadows kept itself at bay, hovering tentatively behind the legs, the arms, the body of the beholder. It feels like your last time spent with someone you love, when you’re too afraid to say anything, because anything else would be cut short by everything being in its finality. All that bothers you is how to say goodbye, not in forms that are easy, but in ways that could soften its brutality.

On a day like this, when rains hound a city, and the sun pours out of cloudy cracks in thin shafts, it’s easier to spot that passage. And when the sun does break out where huge clumps of clouds have parted due to weight and wind, there is an aqueous quality to the sunlight, which renders the objects it glares upon as temporary, even if in reality, all things already are.

And I cannot fathom if I despise such days, or if this is a simply a more eloquent experience of the Monday blues. But it isn’t tinged with sadness, and perhaps it’s also why I am reluctant to consider it as a mood of fear. It’s just a reinforcement of the truth, in a day passing, in a weekend finally being enveloped by the magnitude of a new week. That all things are plagued by brevity, and all interwoven lives will be scarred by fleeting moments which we always battle to prolong, which we will always pray to not end.

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