If Tomorrow Never Came

A poetic reflection on love, legacy, and what truly matters before time runs out.

𝗜𝗳 𝗧𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄 𝗡𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗖𝗮𝗺𝗲

If tomorrow never came,

not as threat,
nor prophecy,
but as a quiet omission in the ledger of time,

what, then, would survive the night?

Not the unfinished arguments,
carefully polished with pride.

Not the numbers sleeping in accounts,
nor the trophies gathering dust
on shelves too high to touch.

The world has always mistaken permanence
for importance.

We build cathedrals of intention,
yet it is often a single trembling kindness
that outlives them all.

If tomorrow never came,

I would wonder less about
what I had achieved

and more about
whose darkness I had brightened
simply by remaining.

I would count not years,
but moments:

the hand I held
when words became unnecessary,

the forgiveness offered
before it was deserved,

the laughter that arrived
uninvited
and stayed like sunlight
on an ordinary afternoon.

Perhaps the great tragedy of being human
is not that life ends,

but that we spend so much of it
preparing to live later.

Saving affection.
Postponing honesty.
Treating love as though
it were an inexhaustible resource.

Yet every heartbeat
is already spending tomorrow.

And so the question remains—

if dawn never crossed the horizon again,
if the stars closed their ancient eyes,

would I regret the risks I took,

or the tenderness
I withheld?

For when all futures are removed,
life is distilled
to its final essence:

not what we possessed,

not what we conquered,

but what we gave away
while it was still ours to give.

If tomorrow never came,

what would matter most today?

The answer, I think,
has always been waiting
inside the silence after the question.

The people.

The love.

And whether they knew.