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Some Sort of Singularity

I’ve never wanted to make more sense in my life than right now.

“So, wait, I don’t get it. Are we okay? We’re okay, right?”

She went silent. Her eyes glistened, and I felt like the one-liner in a cheap twenty cent romance novel. This isn’t how I dreamed it would be. This isn’t how I imagined my life.

“This won’t work. This can’t work.” Oh, but why tell me what I know already? Maybe it’s past experience, but nothing works. The cards are stacked against me. But I have to try; life’s sucker punched me a few times over, and so I tug, and I pull. I will never quit, I tell myself. I will never quit. You better believe it.

Somewhere in a diner, someone’s playing Anita Baker’s “Body and Soul,” which makes me quiver, shiver, drop down and shake. At that moment, I want to tell her how much I hate her, but I can’t. Hatred is too easy. Living with the anger of unjustness is the true pain.

Tomorrow is a new idea. Tomorrow is a wonderful existence. Tomorrow is when I’ll discover worlds I could have never imagined. Tomorrow is when I say hello to strangers and walk away smiling. Tomorrow is a beautiful butterfly wrestling with a tulip. Tomorrow, I’ll wish myself a brand new year. Tomorrow, I’ll swing on a tree branch and eclipse the sky’s peak. Tomorrow you’ll stand by me, and I’ll hold you tight. But tomorrow will never come.

Because today no longer exists.