Measured Divide

There is no real line where the day ends and the dark begins, and still we draw one.

A single exact edge holds the light apart from the dark, and the same form stands on either side of it. In the light it stays pale and whole; across the edge it has quieted into shadow and fine grey stripe, present now as an outline more than a thing. Only the low warmth beneath is common to both, undivided by the line that divides all else.

The line is exact because we needed it to be, not because the light itself ever broke so cleanly. We draw such lines to tell what is still ours from what has already gone.

The comfort is in the exactness: a loss is easier to carry once it has been given an edge, a moment where it can be said to begin.