That sort of a day when everything falls flat.The sun's rays are too harsh.The cake I baked to make things better decides to give up midway.For the first time in my personal history of baking.
And a woman I trusted my manuscript, my book baby with, proved that she had let me down.
Yet again. 
It's that last part that hurts the most.The sun will mellow later in the day.Cakes can be baked again. But trust...
Once lost, it's hard to see them through old eyes again.