Tomorrow will be better they said.
Tomorrow will be better I repeated.
When tomorrow came they uttered the same, "Tomorrow will be better," before turning away.
But tomorrow was never better.
Each tomorrow was worse than that prior to it.
Tomorrow was a word that burnt my tongue, full of unkept secrets and horrors that would soon reveal themselves.
Today was a blanket that enveloped tomorrow; today shielded me from tomorrow. Today was a door but tomorrow was the key to unlock that door.
When they finally stopped muttering about tomorrow it was too late, my thoughts were polluted with the four words that somehow was a splitting rope of hope, my grip gradually deteriorating as I learnt to grasp the reality of the sweet lie.
But somehow those words were all I had. So as the days went by, before my eyes sealed shut it anxiety for when they were next to open, I muttered-
"Tomorrow will be better."
