"why do you love her more now than
when I was tomorrow?"
I sat down and looked at the old tomorrow,
taking in his wrinkled eyes
and the day's memories
painted across his skin.
("call me yesterday," he had said earlier
and I had yet to pinpoint why I couldn't quite do that.)
"because," I explained,
"when you were tomorrow,
I loved her with everything I had,
and she gave me a little bit of new love
every day, so I had more.
today I loved her with everything I had,
and when you go,
a new old tomorrow will come
and ask me why I love her more every day
and I'll tell him what I told you:
every day, she teaches me a little bit more
about how to love well
and every day she gives me a little bit more love
so I'll tell her I'll love her tomorrow every night for the rest of my life
and I'll talk to tomorrow every night for the rest of my life
and then I'll tell her all about it in the morning,
and watch the smile spread across her face,
and really, that's all forever is"
tomorrow looked at me with weary eyes,
and then, satisfied, drifted away
to the banks of yesterday
like a leaf on the wind.