The days are like pages, are like streets, are like walking
in  and out of the sun, the space of shadows, a sudden storm. Days like words and the colours that are held in 
words. And the paths that lock into space.
And what is seen and what is held and what can be opened up once again.
Opened up in the book of days. The page of a day. 
In the spaces between fear.
Days, dominos, collapsing each other.

The long slide.
A world where everything stands for itself.