I’m one of those days you can’t quite remember, when your body gets out of bed because that’s what it does everyday, and when your feet take you along these streets where the pavement knows your prints.

I’m the soft pitter-patter of the rain, quiet and unassuming, and only when you step into a dry room (the drip-drip-drip from your coat, your hair, your glasses a pool of raindrops), do you realize that you’re drenched.

I’m one of those days you live with your eyes half closed, when you can’t quite pinpoint if you’re still in a dream, but then you pinch yourself and it hurts.

I’m just a little box to cross off as you count down to Christmas or summer break or date night or your twenty-first birthday. I’m always the day before, sometimes the day after, but never, never the day.

I’m another day that the sun happens to rise, that the ants march along your windowsill and the universe doesn’t swallow itself, and another day you happen to still be around. Enough to live through the day, but not quite alive. 

I’m your forever, because I’m all you’ve ever known.

So why do I only deserve a fraction of your time?

Why have I only ever received a piece of your mind?

I know. I’m one of those days you will never quite remember. Perhaps you’ll say: I think I called my mother that day, but I’m not really sure. And when your mind starts slipping and darkness calls you back for one more night, and today becomes yesterday, so will I.

I’m just another day gone by.