Tomorrow

Jason's face eludes me.

I search deep down in the guts to see

if I can find it.

To annotate the eyelids and

curve of his nose,

shape of his chin.

Some misconstrued drawing done

by my teenage self within.

But a shadow of dust floats before me

when shaking out the vision.

Caked in minute particles of

guilt and sorrow.

A mission to regenerate a memory,

though Jason would say, "No.

Just think about tomorrow."