He looked at me, eyes rain-readied, heavy and distant.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered quietly.

“All these years, I’ve been telling myself ‘tomorrow’.

“But then there’s another tomorrow. Followed by another.

“And then a tomorrow follows that.”

He blinked and the rain began. Slow and silent.

‘Until there’s no tomorrow. It’s over.”

Jon is from the North West of England and an aspiring writer, working in Local Government but with a background in Newspaper Journalism.