Daybreak brings a lethargic admission of perjury; or one of those dawdling, cursory, and out of earshot suspicions of yesterday: yet today’s yesterday sidesteps its propriety of disappearance; it haunts my waking like the abstract restlessness of a paradoxical child contesting its own afternoon drowsiness; both the scrappy child and the cantankerous yesterday will eventually accede to time’s quiet erosion of callow resistance and release their hold on the buoy of existence and sink heavily into their rightful place like a puzzle piece.

It’s called “Daybreak” for a reason. In my case it should be called “Every-Day-Breaks.”