The Tomorrow That Never Comes”

I said I’d start today.
But… the sun slipped away,
and I watched it,
like it owed me another chance.

I told myself — “you’ll do it tomorrow.”
Like I always do.
Like I always have.

See, I’m a master of postponement.
An artist of delay.
I paint my plans on clouds
and then blame the rain.

I call it rest,
call it timing,
call it not yet.
But truth is —
it’s fear,
dressed up in logic.

I say I’m waiting for the right moment,
but really…
I’m just afraid that moment might not like me back.

Hours fold into days,
days into this quiet ache
of almost doing something.
And every time I say, “soon,”
I bury another version of me
that could’ve been.

It’s wild, isn’t it?
How we keep waiting for perfect weather
while the storm inside us just keeps growing.

But maybe —
maybe this time,
I won’t wait.
Maybe I’ll start before I’m ready.
Before the fear gets too loud.
Before “tomorrow” wins again.

Maybe I’ll start —
right now.
Imperfect.
Unsteady.
But real.