Tonight you will walk home hand-in-hand with Kentucky Fried Nonsense instead of me.
You will hold yourself close and wish I was there with home-cooked clarity
And Kentucky Fried Nonsense will be the first meal you’ve had in two days.
You can’t be fixed.
You are not broken, there are no pieces to put back together,
You are just lost.
And I don’t have the map.
My tomorrows are not there for you.
My tomorrows are for puddle-jumping and leaping into waterfalls
My tomorrows are filled with homework and projects and stress
My tomorrows are for petting a stranger’s dog because it came bounding up to me with starlight eyes
My tomorrows does not give me time to play saviour.
My tomorrows won’t be there for you.
But I wish it did
I want to walk home hand-in-hand with you,
Write you recipes for temporary relief
I want to wave at you from your doorstep,
But still I stand here.
Waiting for tomorrow.