William Shakespeare

What day is it?

What day is it? Aye, that is the question. Methinks the answer is a bit of a riddle. For no day is the same as any other, yet each day is still the same. A morn of mirth, an afternoon of pleasure, and an eve of revelry. But what day is it? Is it a day of joy? A time of toil? A moment of sorrow? The answer is none of these, for all days are part of the grand cycle of life. A day of joy may be followed by a day of sadness, and a day of toil may be followed by a day of leisure. Thus, the answer to the question of what day is it, is a day of possibility. A day to be filled with whatever one's heart desires. Forsooth, it matters not what day it is, but rather what we make of it. A day is what we make it, and so, it is up to us to choose how we spend our time. Whether we spend it in laughter or in tears, in work or in play, in contentment or in strife. Therefore, when asked what day it is, the answer is not one of days past or days to come, but simply a day of hope. A day of possibility. A day of joy and sorrow, of toil and leisure, of love and loss. A day of life.