I asked you once if it would ever be okay.
You told me you knew it would be.
Of course I asked you "when?", desperate for something to make it better.
"Tomorrow." He said, hoping to appease me with something small, knowing that I just needed reassurance of some kind.
Not that kind.
What he never remembered was I asked him this every day. And yesterday he answered "tomorrow." And the next day he told me it was okay "yesterday."
He must've seen the stress enveloping the both of us, for one day, he stopped promising me my precious tomorrows. And he forgot entirely what it was that I was hoping he'd make okay again.
