Were I, Yesterday

Were my face a parchment, the ink would be blotted and smudged;
faded and folded and thumbed a million times over with worn edges that would fray into soft, fluffy tears but would fit so neatly in your palm and hold your place so sweetly in books.

Were my hand a clipper, calm waters (salt and sweet) would have been traversed;
sewn through winds and storms as needles through burlap and canvas and silk; it the hopeful vessel by which maps were inscribed using the stars as guides to new and haunting longitudes and latitudes and curvatures and currents.

Were my heart a chalice, broken would be the base with a strong and thick bowl; it would be chipped and faded; gold and glittering. It would tilt to-and-fro and spill and overflow and would find itself empty though, inexplicably, always have more to slake a thirst and give when the last drop was supposed to have been consumed.

Were today yesterday or the day before or last year there are a million things I would enjoy more and a million more I would hope I could improve upon.

Today is today and tomorrow is not guaranteed and, while I doubt and I regret, I am certain and I am effervescent. I believe there is good and that we must find it and we must make it.

Were I, yesterday, what I am today then I would not be today what I was yesterday and even if that means without you I will go on and I know you will too and I will love you and love you and love you.