They come and go as if they're someone else's days

Today the usual buildings were turned to starlets waiting for a fashion show.
And the rain (and I) witnessed the sun crush a heavy grey skyline with light - squeezing out a thousand rainbows from between pockets of soggy cloud and condensation. The sky blushed at seeing its made-over reflection in the million puddles that surrounded our feet.

I was (and remain) a standing ovation for that which cannot be controlled
...as I unwillingly surrender to the inevitability of time's greed and the inertia that follows.

I want to keep these days in my pocket. I want to whisper them across pillows.
I want to use them as face wash and then radiate beams of nostalgia from my pores.
I want to keep them when I die so that I can relive them and know their value face to face again.