The days aren’t discarded or collected, they are bees

that burned with sweetness or maddened

the sting: the struggle continues,

the journeys go and come between honey and pain.

… life is like a stone, a single motion,

a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves,

an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metal

that climbs or descends burning in your bones.

– Pablo Neruda – Still Another Day