Today was slow, monotonous, and dull,
Only spent reminiscing about Yesterdays.
Yesterdays which were then Todays,
But more lively and fun than the present day.
At the time, of course,
There was a yearning for an end.
To get out of what was then
A slow, monotonous, and dull cycle.
Unable to grasp that those days
Would be looked at as fonder Yesterdays.
Unable to look past the boring and hurtful moments,
And instead to the times of bliss and excitement.
A yearning for tomorrow to come faster,
To start a new day.
A day that would be only joy
And no inkling of pain.
Then the seasons changed like night and day,
With little mercy for my ignorance.
And so Tomorrow came,
Yet it all felt the same.
And all I could think about,
Was Yesterday.
About the Creator
Borax
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I First Saw Him
When I first saw him sitting on the wall, relaxed and looking out over the water, I was sure he wasn't a local. Not including children, there are only about 250 or 300 of us in this area full-time, though that number is ten-fold in the summer, and I know everyone at least by sight or by family resemblance. And yet, the way he sat looked familiar and started my mind sorting and discarding among the families I knew, not quite like this one, not quite like that one.
By Natalie Wilkinson7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Oh, I felt this one. I find myself in a similar predicament from time to time.
I'm a person who lives in the past most of the time. Your poem was very relatable!