Forty six times the event has come around, each one different and also the same. Glacial changes over time, reverting back to the beginning and inching closer to the ending. Forty five was half of ninety. Ninety will never be seen, in all likelihood. We only know the half way point once the ending is reached. Every day is a gift and every day is a repetition. The same gift, opened without excitement, excepting on rare occasions. Oblivion calls, as life holds it back. In the end, the abyss wins over, and we all enter.