Tomorrow

(c) by Hector Humberto Amaya


This world will change. Thunderstorms abound in this world. He will fall in love with snow. She will reject him because he and her are different. " Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?'' she will ask him. This will hurt him and he will not be the same anymore. It will not be the first time. It is his fate. ''We are different in every way,'' she will add. He will not understand. He never does. ''Why didn't you fall in love with the rain instead?'' she will ask him. "I don't like the rain,'' he will say. "Why not?'' she will ask. ''It isn't you,'' he will say. ''But the rain is so beautiful, much more beautiful than I am,'' she will say. "Impossible. Neither the lightning nor the thunderstorm can be more beautiful than you are,'' he will say. ''Your problem is that you fall in love with what isn't like you,'' she will observe wisely. "But is that wrong?'' he will ask. ''You know the answer to that question,'' she will say. ''But I don't know the answer to that question,'' he will say. "I will bring you a mirror the next time I see you,'' she will say. ''Where have you been all these years?'' he will ask. "Preparing to see you again,'' she will say. "But what's the point of seeing me again if you were only going to wound me?'' he will ask. "I came back to tell you the truth about who I am,'' she will say. "What do you mean?'' he will ask. "I am who I am meant to be,'' she says. ''And what are you meant to be?'' he will ask. ''The muse that cannot be,'' she will say. ''The goddess that should have been but will not be,'' he will conclude as he lets a hot tear drop. There will be an ocean of tears on the ground. Cold miserable tears. Ice will rain from the sky. This ice, sharp as a knife, and as delicious as iguana eggs, will cut hearts. It always does. All the ice looks like a rice field.

He will be happy to have seen snow. He will walk in the snow. This snow will have done him a favor. Snow is everywhere in his mind. He doesn't think that he and snow are that different. But in this world they are. In this world things have to match. The world will change. It always does. His fate will return because he likes snow. Snow is still there seeing him walkaway taciturnly and deep in thought. Snow is sorry, but she had to be honest with him. The snow and the night can only be friends. There is not another possibility. Not in this world at least. She wishes things in this world were different. He thinks maybe the snow will come back. He thinks. He thinks. He thinks. He thinks. He thinks. She weeps.
She is only a messenger. She has done her job.This is how it was supposed to be. This is how it will always be. She did what was expected of her. Snow will reject him every time. 

She is the muse that cannot be and the goddess that should have been but will not be.

The sky begins to weep, too. It is raining. Silver. Hard. Coldly. A new beginning. The same end. What now? Must he go on? Must he wait to see Snow again? Would someone set the sky on fire again and run away? Fiery purification.

He gets lost in the solitude of the rain. The rain is telling him something. He cannot hear her. But even if he did hear the rain, he would not understand her. But the rain understands him. She always will. If only rain was like snow. If only Snow had been like him. If he only listened. If only this was another world. If he could only understand the rain. If the rain could only understand him. If he had only been like snow.