Our eyes open and the morning is colder than before.
The sun rises and sets as it did yesterday, but every today it comes a little later, and leaves a little sooner. And where once the sun rose with our breakfast it now hides until we’ve started work. And we work the jobs we always have and do the thing we did yesterday. And all day we wonder, where is the sun? For it leaves before we do.
Our eyes open and we’re the same as we were before. And the morning is the same as it always was. And nothing ever changes. And the sun rises and the sun sets and we read new books and watch new movies and experience new things. But every day we wake up and we’re the same.
Our eyes open and it’s tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And every tomorrow is just another today. And when the busy world we’ve created breaks like the clouds revealing our lost sun, for the briefest moments we remember the sweet promises of youth.
The promise of a first kiss that never came. A dream we held tightly until one day it had passed. We’d practice for days, planning out the perfect moments and then tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
The promise of the many books we said we’d write. The stories we always told our friends but never the written page. The Tolkeins and Rowlings were mere preludes to the epic tales we would tell. And then we opened our eyes to another blank page. The cursor forever blinking, blinking, blinking atop a vast sea of white.
The promise to explore a world before unseen. To cross the oceans by plane or boat. To land in a place where the language is new and the people are weird. We would try something new and it would be delicious. We would celebrate the world created by these strangers and drink deep the sweet culture. But tomorrow always comes.
Our eyes open and we’re silent before that person. Our pages are blank. And our feet remain planted firmly at home.
Our eyes open and it is today. And it always will be.