The Man Who Invented Tomorrow

I invented tomorrow once.

Not the word, of course.
That existed long before me.
I invented the habit of believing in it.

I told the poor man,
there would be a better season.
I told the grieving woman,
the pain would eventually become smaller.
I told the child with broken shoes,
that somewhere ahead,
the road would be kinder.

They believed me.

Soon, nobody wanted today.
The baker postponed his first bite,
the painter saved his colours,
the lovers kept their best words
for a more suitable evening.

Even the old began apologising
for not having enough time
to reach the future I promised.

And then, one morning,
a little girl asked me:

"Sir, if tomorrow is where happiness lives,
who is looking after today?"

I had no answer.

I still don't.

But every morning,
I open my shop,
arrange my promises,
and sell another tomorrow
to someone who hasn't noticed
that today came free.