We know what we have is finite, we know it has to end, but we stumble just the same because knowing is not the same as believing. This, then, is our fatal flaw. The way we consider our maybe next times and our second chances, our opportunities to change things. We plot and plan – redemption, revenge, renewal – because we never truly accept that something can be lost to us. We tell ourselves that we live in a world of infinite possibility, that time heals everything and we assume that tomorrow will give us another day. We waste so much time believing in the benign nature of time itself, in the idea that it will somehow expand to contain everything we want of this world. If we just keep going. If we never, ever give up.
But you are gone. That which was endless is suddenly contained. The ending has been written, and even if I travel backward through all that came before I will one day arrive at the point where the beginning resides, where there is nothing new to discover.
I can feel the real loss waiting for me here. When I exhaust our memories I will be left only with what we never knew. There will be no new words to decipher, no clumsy mistakes to ponder, no new arguments on which to stake our silence. No new white-flag smiles and no new resolutions. No new landscape awaits our exploration – we will have mapped our love entirely.
You had such an enduring faith in tomorrow, Mack. So much so that you never had both feet planted here in today. And now you are gone. What happens to tomorrow without you there, waiting?
When it was tomorrow I liked it more – and thought it just might be the dream I slept over so easily the night before …
Image: Joanne Piechota