I yearn for tomorrow,
for a moment after this moment,
for a vague time in the future where my wounds have scabbed and their scars were worthwhile,
for the taste of the morning’s toothpaste on my gums,
for the quiet sunshine on my window sills,
for a moment that doesn’t exist.
what if it’s always like this?
what if the moment after this moment falls short of the expected?
what if my wounds scar dark brown and I have nothing to show for them?
what if I swallow my toothpaste?
what if I wake up and greyness hangs low on the horizon?
for now, there is only the now.