We're waiting for tomorrow,
But tomorrow never comes,
Our last breath is upon our heels,
Yet we refuse to run,
84 400 seconds,
And we're in another day,
All slipping through our fingers,
As we look the other way,
Days, weeks, months and years,
Are made up of right now,
A string of fleeting moments,
That we never can pin down,
We gaze into the future,
As though it's where we're meant to be,
Always planning for that day,
When we can say that we're happy,
We spend so long looking forward,
That we might as well be blind,
Since we don't see until the very end,
All the things we've left behind,
Now I know it's just a theory,
But I thinned I've worked out how,
The only way to happiness,
Is to love what we have now.
-e.h
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