Sometimes.
Tomorrow seems to overshadow today.
Just as buildings cast thick midnight squares on sunlit streets.
A reprieve for some, a cold veil for others.
Sometimes you’re sprinting towards tomorrow.
Because today the sun forgot to rise, and the onyx hues held the city in its grips indefinitely.
Sometimes the darkness decides to stay, and the days no longer come.
Never mind those patchy shadows, you yearn for a small patch of yester-week’s Sun.
You grow suspicious of today and even tomorrow – When will it turn black again?
Accustomed to the dark, today and tomorrow are now too bright.
You close your eyes to a coal like tomb - Am I better off without such light?
Sometimes you hope to miss the bus and arrive late for tomorrow.
Because today, high up above, the Sun sits directly overhead.
Its tendrils reach the pockets of your soul, like brittle fingers in a winter gown.
They curl and squeeze and begin to explore.
It’s noon and the Sun marks the 12 o’clock spot.
Now in perfect perpendicularly to all that life’s got.
Too aligned, too perfect for shadows and the pending promise of tomorrow to corrupt.
A rare, fleeting moment where today is utterly uninterrupted.
Too soon the Sun reminds you that change is a certainty, shifting over in time.
Like a plane of sand lightly darkened by the tears of a busted rain cloud.
The familiar shadows reemerge, staining the pavement black.
Wet and dry, today and tomorrow.
Two sides of the same coin.
Something must be wet for us to appreciate what it is to be dry.
We need tomorrow to love today.
Those inky midnight days remind us.
But sometimes you wish you only had today.
That you could extend that perfect noon hour into twelve and spend the whole day in that wholly light.
Sometimes today is enough and tomorrow too much.
Sometimes today isn’t enough and tomorrow enough.
Sometimes today is too much and tomorrow is the end.
But we all live under the same Sun.
We share it.
The light and the shadows.
And this, all of this, is only sometimes.
