Each day's sunrise is as unique as each and every person who wakes up to it. The predictable inky black slates dotted with stars are faded and overtaken by the colors of pale brilliance. Baby blues, soft roses and creamy yellows often color the atmosphere as the sun surpasses the ivory sphere of the night. Other breaks in the day explode with all the vibrancy of a butterfly's wing, dazzling oranges, shocking shades of pink and reds brighter than a single drop of blood chase away the velvet of the night in a swirling assault to reclaim their fleeting time of existence . I don't remember the fingerprint of the dawning day, only a few months of life have erased my memory of that day, of everything but a ceremony. The journey to school was forgotten. Even the way I wore my hair and all the events leading up to my death at the rite of passage are forgotten, except for what lies behind the framed glass. The memory is simply the minutes, the moments, the heartbeats, the emotions and the hours of the ceremony that remain imprinted in what they are. I can't remember if I felt proud for whatever reason the ceremony was taking place, but I think I was. Like the rest of my class, I was there. At this point I marveled at the eerie silence as I sat in a metal chair that, despite being warm from my occupation for over half an hour, felt cold. I was there with the others. This place, this ceremony, I have never seen myself there. Not with my class. Not with any class. This feat was never something I thought would happen to me. This question about my transition from the isolation of high school to the rest of the world was not due to my lack of intellect, perhaps of study habits, but never of intelligence. It wasn't due to my work ethic, this was never a professional... middle of paper... an offer to clean your wounds. You can take me up on my offer and stop running for that time before you stumble away, staying true to the advice you were given. Then again you might be dragged to the side of the road, in the hot grass, tired and broken. I will come closer and offer my flask, should we be of age. With the lighting sweet as honey, our burning throats will exchange stories. I'm not saying that my leisure walking route is a better or wiser route than your fast paced route. You can run towards your goals, so that they are everything you dreamed of, an illusion of existence or an illusion of happiness. You can go through life in an instant and rush to the end, you might get there sooner, you might get there later. I just offer a different perspective where life will not pass by in a blur, empty and half-lost, but rather where it can be welcomed and enjoyed.