Before You Take That Pill

Before you take that pill— slipping into the abyss of darkness, an eternal sleep— wait. Just wait till tomorrow. Don’t die today. Wait till tomorrow. The people who hurt you will move on, maybe write a paragraph about how sorry they were. Or maybe not. They’ll say, “We didn’t see the signs,” but you know you left clues— in the silence, in the tired eyes, in the way you said “I’m fine” like it was a rehearsed script. Still— wait till tomorrow. Because tomorrow might bring a breeze you forgot you loved, or sunlight that slips through your curtain like a warm, gentle hand. Maybe a song will play that makes you feel something again— even if it’s just for a moment. Maybe someone will say your name and for the first time in weeks, you won’t flinch. Even if the ache is still there, if the silence still screams, wait anyway. Wait till tomorrow— because sometimes, all healing ever asks for is just one more day.