one day I’ll excavate those giant mountains of clothes in my room, who’ve been here longer than my poor old mind allows me to recall. i’ve grown so accustomed to traversing their steepest peaks that I almost forget they’re there. someday I may put them in their proper place—or, knowing me, I may just shove them to the back of my closet, where they can no longer shame me for forgetting.
one day I’ll clear these piles of junk I’ve collected over the years. bits and bobs fill every corner of this room, as well as every nook and cranny in my mind. dust collects on paper scraps that haven’t felt the sun in years. I tell myself that they’ll come in handy one day—some day—, but when my rose-colored glasses begin to fade, all I really have is a false sense of control and some old paper.
one day I’ll get a good night’s sleep. someday, I’ll rest peacefully without seeing horrors behind my eyes—without seeing neighborhoods destroyed and innocent lives claimed. and, maybe, my troubled subconscious will sort itself out, and I’ll dream of gumdrops and lavender clouds instead. but today is not that day, so until then I gamble on who I will see dead tonight.
one day I’ll figure out why I’m here. everyone around me is running a marathon in this race for a purpose, and I’ve been shot by the starting pistol. now as I wander the world as a not-quite-vengeful spirit, I ask myself what went wrong—what I did wrong. I wonder if maybe I am an angel, and if I earn my wings I can fly back to the starting point and give it another go. but I must have lost my instructions from heaven somewhere in my room, so for now I roam this planet in silence.
one day I’ll do all the amazing things that I told you I would. I’ll read all the books, watch all the shows, make all the art that I promised. I’ll tell every story, paint every picture, dump every ounce of my brain onto a canvas ‘til the whole world knows my name. but my first obstacle is this bed, and the second is this mind; both drain my energy like patient vampires, and yet they are too comfortable and familiar to leave behind. but someday—and I’m sure of it—someday I’ll break out of this brimstone circle and get back to you.
and, one day, I’ll tell you how much I love you. I’ll wrap my arms around you and sing a ballad of how much you mean to me as I weep and revel in your beautiful presence. you are everything I am expected to be, and everything I wish to become. but as I gaze into your eyes, I notice that your once baby-blues are now wide-eyed browns, and I wonder if you were like me at some point—just a lost soul with a room full of junk and a head full of thoughts. and soon, as I notice no wings on your back or sweat on your forehead, I wonder if you still are.