today will be different
there's something special about the first few minutes after you wake up. some sort of brain flow state that makes you forget what you thought you knew, because mornings feel limitless. even when you're jaded and broken down by pressure, you can still catch yourself waking up and believing, "today will be different".
i will finish my project. i will clean my room. i will do the dishes. everything, today. tomorrow doesn't exist. i'll figure it all out and call that special someone. today i won't be so weak, today i'll be slower to anger, today i'll say what i need to say.
it's ok if the day was not so different after all. if we're lucky, tomorrow we'll have another today, and the day after that will be today again, and after enough todays in a row, something could really shift. can you do a little bit today? can you make a tiny move today? not in shame but in duty of keeping a promise to your future self.
today i will make only tiny moves, slow moves. today will be different just like any today. today and only today the river will run, because today is every day.