Love Me Tomorrow

Something's wrong, you tell me. It doesn't work out anymore. It's over.

I don't understand. What doesn't work out anymore? Nothing ever has. You – no; we are the only thing that has ever worked out, the only thing that has clicked and been right in my life. We're happy together, aren't we? I remember last week we were still eating at that ice cream parlour two blocks down the road from the primary school. Don't you remember?

I remember. My mum used to take me there after school once a week – it was a treat, she always said, a treat for being such a good girl, for finishing my homework and helping to put out the clothes. Or was it because I put up with Dad and his 'habits' without complaint? Did it even matter back then? No, it didn't. I just wanted Mum to always pick me up after school, to always get me my chocolate ice cream. Because I was a good girl, wasn't I?

Maybe I was never good enough. One day, Mum just didn't come to pick me up. She never came again. It was an accident, the officers said. Speeding car, young inexperienced driver. The wrong place at the wrong time. Mum wasn't coming back.

I went home by myself, cut detours without venturing down to the ice cream parlour. But then you took me down there again. It became our special place. To me, it was home. It was our haven.

I thought you would stay. You said you would never hurt me. You said you loved me. You were the only one who knew who I really was. You took Mum's place – you were the only one that mattered. When you said you would protect me from everything, everyone, did you mean Dad as well? Even though he doesn't know what he's doing half the time and says too many harsh things, would you still protect me? You said you would.

Then why are you leaving me now? What happened to us? Is it because it is exam period and we're both stressed out? Is it because Dad got busted again and I had to leave in the middle of biology to see him? Tell me what I did wrong. I'll change. I need you.

It's over, you said again. Please, take them back. You don't mean it. You know you don't.

Don't tell me you don't love me. It doesn't matter if it isn't working out today. You can love me tomorrow, the day after. Next week. Next month. Even next year.

Just, please, don't say you don't love me when you're the only one who does.


AN: This just wrote itself in twenty minutes. It's nothing personal, I can tell you that. I was just reading a sad book before this. Just trying to show that it's not always a matter of boy/girl crazy.