It’s funny how we ink the future,
on calendars that crumble like dry leaves
before the day\'s breath touches them.
How we sketch blueprints
with hands shaking from uncertainties,
believing we control the tides
when even the moon laughs at our confidence.
I once knew a girl
who planned her wedding
before her first kiss.
She\'s divorced now,
wearing her dreams like old sneakers,
too scuffed to be proud of,
too familiar to throw away.
I used to map my tomorrows
across star charts and sticky notes,
only to find today
peering through the window,
a guest waiting for tea,
while I fumbled with doors unopened,
keys unturned, surprises unwrapped.
Plans are snowflakes in summer:
beautiful ideas,
melting before they land.