Not Tomorrow

It’s funny
how art can
make us beautiful.
Brushstrokes
across a canvas
can turn ordinary
into fascinating,
mundane into display.
Pretty words
can place
picturesque images
into our minds
and convince us
that the world isn’t
so dark after all.
Yet are these realities
honest?
Are you as truly happy
or miserable
as I imagine
when I read your words
or listen to the tunes
that flutter from your fingers?
I keep waiting
for the day
where you let loose
the words
you’ve held back
with clenched hands.
Will I wake up
to your voice
filling my head
with a wash
of memories
that seem like a movie
playing in reverse.
Where I stayed
and you believed
or where you followed
and I held out.
It’s not tonight.
This I know.
And it won’t be tomorrow.
And I wonder
how you would feel
if you knew
I am doing everything
in my control
to stay in control,
to not give this up
and chase you into forever.