But then we look back and see our footprints. The certainty of time. Marking the path with blood. Torn fabric. Handprints. Groves from our knees on the ground. And though its so vivid. So sharp. We turn to those dreams. Those fantastic fabrications that carry us through the red knees and blue cheeks. To get to a place that’s never real until its past.
We’re desperate for the future. Tomorrow’s fortune is today’s satiation. The food in my mouth today is nothing compared to the feast tomorrow. but then fortune smiles. The future is never to be. You’re told with a phone. Or an apology.
But you know.
Tomorrow has vanished with a breath and you’re left with your shoes untied. You’ve raced so hard to cover miles you never saw and the door is already closed.
