I wanted a perfect future, but he lived in the past tense. One can’t change yesterday anymore than one could cast a spell on tomorrow.
But there are no definitives in any tomorrow nor infinitives, just awkward pauses and run on sequences where you can’t stamp down a period with your shoe. Life is full of commas, but only if you keep writing it.
Life doesn’t have rough drafts and we’re editing our future as we wallow in the past.
But he waved me off with a red pen because this wasn’t future perfect picture.
And I type away still in present tense.