None.

I wake up a little past noon, drenched in warm air, swallowing to soothe a dry throat. An open window, or what it showcases, glues me on it. I grab my phone and try to write. It's one of those times the day just feels perfect, that everything conspires again to fill me with thrill. That though I am amazed at how Physics can tell me why I see blue or white, no science or logic can explain why a beautiful, sunny day brightens up even my insides. That my greatest amazement will always be at Who paints it all.

But what else to write? I have written perhaps so much of this I remember some - while eating at McDo, after a walk on campus, home alone on a weekend. I do not know what's more to this than this. Because this in itself is too much. And though my words are plain and lacking luster to reflect my high, I say now, this is too much. To contain. To grasp. To measure. To preserve. What more to explain.

And just what will make me lose awe? What homework or meal or things on planner will I not delay just to know again how much this is? What want not to say the same things will keep me from writing every time? What failure to put into words all this will stop me from attempting to freeze time? What impossibility will take away my attempts? What will keep me from admiring more Who behind all this is?