It’s a regular evening, with the tedium of turning clocks. Nothing poetic or literary to say about it; only an opportunity to use big words.
The sun continues its steadfast decent, exactly the same pace that clocked the steadfast sunrise, a regular evening plagues a person, life descends on this person, the missed opportunity of what must have and could have been his – a beautiful morning and a day filled with objects of desires and purpose; the pursuit of human endeavor. [cntd]
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