Opacity

What is a day? A span of time. But what is it, what is a day?

A lifetime; I often think that. As though I was born upon waking, lived my adolescence in the morning and my middle age in the long afternoon.

And what am I now? An old man writes; an old man remembers and writes. And if I live my life as I have done today, what then? There will be nothing to remember, for nothing happened. I was born; I lived – and now, close to midnight? close to death?

Nothing happened today. A blank page in the journal. A day that did not catch fire. A lost day, that I will not remember. What happened today? I rose; I worked; I went to the office and then to town. I came home; I cooked a late lunch. That was my middle age. And then … and then …?

Close to death (is that what is coming – death?) memories thicken themselves into nothing. What is a day? What was it? An opacity; the white lens of corrective glasses. Light thickened until it is no longer a medium. I can’t see – I’m lost. The day disappeared into itself. The day contracted, light into light.

What happened? What happened today?