Do you think that when the morning sun's about to rise above the skyline, it takes just a minute to consider? Is there a moment when it hangs there, suspended, touching the limits of both worlds, and decides which way to go? One day will it skim the clouds and sink back beneath the horizon again, so that suddenly it won't be day anymore?


Being pulled by the reins of inevitability, and too hesitant to let them fall, that moment of reckoning is the one I keep bottled up, in a tiny cologne vial, and look at every day, assured in the simple knowledge that it is mine.