Tomorrow

I’m trying not to think of tomorrow— where reality lives, where being an adult requires staring straight at it without flinching, without protest. The offer came gently, without warning. It rested there in the middle of things, expecting to be observed, handled, then embraced for the need it truly was. It lay within a familiar realm of expertise, dressed casually, without pretense, lingering, dangling— if you will— a bauble twirling just within reach. Yet the pause, the chasm between now and tomorrow, wears an unmistakable coat— threadbare, clinging: dread. Weighing heavy inside the delight, the pause tightens, holding desire at bay. Tethered to another encumbrance hiding behind handshakes that never feel quite warm, hollow smiles spitting the beguiling skit: here, we are family. Then, over trickling moments, tested beyond limits, the smile’s upward curve bends under gravity, flattened beneath the steady pounding— hammered out at the forge. Let me leave tomorrow where it belongs, protected inside the unknown. Let me play with today, light-footed, unburdened, hours rolling forward carefree—

for now.