Tomorrow

It was one of those days you wanted to slam the door, lock yourself in the living room, and eat chocolate ice cream until you puked. Emma stared back at Matt. Just five minutes ago, he was her world, the reason she pulled through all the bull someone had draged her through. He was the reason she didn't regret the day before it began. Five minutes meant a lot. She ran, not able to face him with the tears threatining in her eyes. She had done everything to make her worth him, so that there might be a chance they could be together. And he goes off and gets her best friend. What should she do? The only answer was writing. The journal her mother picked out for her before Emma was even born, before her mother had been in that plane crash back in 2001. Before it all changed. It was a little gold book, perfect in every way. It was full of writing, full of the liquid feelings Emma constantly poured into the little book. She flashed a new entry, and sh epoured and poured all her thoughts, her angers, her outbursts, and most of all, her apologies. I'm sorry, she wrote, that I wasted that time. I'm sorry I was so blind as to see who had put the blindfold on, and why I had kept it on, almost as faithful as a retriever. That's how stupid hope is, sometimes. She stopped writing. She took it back about hope. Hope was what got her through that first Christmas without her mom. It hepled her get through all of that, helped her face that September morning when she turned on the news, hearing of the plane crashes. It helped her after she and her father moved to a new town, far from New York. But now, hope was backstabbing her. What if it wasn't true hope, but a desire, a lost desire, only to survive in a new world, a new time? What then? Tomorrow would be the anniversary of the plane crash that took her mom. Tomorrow was a meaningful day, when her mother seemed most alive. Tomorrow, Emma wouldn't care about Matt, she would forget the time, and only learn from it. Tomorrow, it would make her stronger, as it always did. Tomorrow was September Eleventh.