On a February day, a colourful butterfly was flying merrily through the central park.
As he flew along like that, among the flowers and above them, all at once Colourful Butterfly stopped. With his nose to the wind, he listened in on what the two people sitting on a bench were saying. It so happened that they were a he and a she, deeply in love, on a day of the 24th of February. It was the most important day for Butterfly, for it was, as you have surely guessed, his birthday. Although he knew his relatives were waiting for him at the festive table, he could not move on, on account of the curiosity flooding his mind. He alighted elegantly on the Blue Flower, making himself almost invisible to the people.
"We have a reservation at the restaurant tonight," he said.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, delighted. "I can hardly wait."
"And tomorrow we will go to the concert," he added.
"Aaah!" the woman began to shriek, so that she set Colourful Butterfly trembling on the Blue Flower too.
Butterfly faltered in his trembling and thought: "what could Tomorrow be?" Then he watched the two sweethearts with interest as they rose from the bench and walked along like that, he with his arm over her shoulders, and she with her hand lifted up, holding his hand, you know the picture, like all the sweethearts who stroll about in the park.
Colourful Butterfly did not know what "Tomorrow" meant, and being a very curious butterfly besides, he could not help but begin an investigation. Since he was already resolved not to let this piece of information slip away, he flew off at once to the National Library of Butterflies, where he began rummaging through all sorts of books on Butterflology, the Butterfly Language and Butterfliana, but he found nothing to help him; then he searched the Dic, where under M he did not find the word "tomorrow". Flying about like that all through the library, he managed to strike up a conversation with the Caterpillar librarian, who was reading at her desk with her glasses pushed up above her eyes.
"Excuse me," said the Butterfly politely, "do you happen to know where I might find information about 'Tomorrow'?"
"But, my dear," answered Mrs. Caterpillar, "'Tomorrow' is a word that does not exist in your dictionary."
"Why?"
"Because it means nothing to you."
"But it means something to sweethearts," he remarked at once.
"Of course; sometimes sweethearts dwell too much on words that mean something only to them."
"But," Colourful Butterfly went on, "'Tomorrow' must exist."
"For people, perhaps," said the librarian.
The Butterfly left the library frustrated, but that did not stop him from flying off to the National Hive as well.
"Good day, might I have an audience with Queen Bee?" he asked the bee-guards at the entrance.
"Let us check." Then they buzzed in the air, and the Queen's answer came back at once. "Go on," they continued, "the 87th floor, second door on the left, next to the provisions door."
Overjoyed, Colourful Butterfly flew up the stairs in the blink of a human eye and knocked on the door with his wing.
"Come in," came a voice.
"Good moment to you," said Butterfly.
"A good life to you," answered Queen Bee.
"I am bothering you with a question."
"I am listening."
"What is 'Tomorrow'?"
Then Queen Bee grew flustered at first, and then she swallowed hard. "Why do you ask me?"
"Well, you see: two sweethearts in the park were talking, and they said that Tomorrow they would do this and that."
"My dear, I am afraid 'Tomorrow' does not exist for you."
"But why does something exist for one and not for another?"
"Because we are different! You, live the moment," Queen Bee urged him, pity in her gaze.
The Butterfly came down the stairs upset. But he did not stop searching. He thought of flying off quickly to the general physician, Mr. Woodpecker, the one rumoured to have studied genetics and existentiality at Woodpecker University.
He found him with his beak in a tree when he reached him, and asked him:
"Excuse me, what is 'Tomorrow'?"
"Knock, knock, knock, tomorrow is Sunday," the physician rapped out.
Butterfly thought a moment and then said:
"And what is Sunday?"
"It is a holiday," Mr. Woodpecker went on answering between knocks.
"And... if you were to define the word 'Tomorrow', how would you define it?"
"Well, if I were to define tomorrow, I would define tomorrow, not today."
Butterfly was thoroughly muddled. He no longer understood what "Tomorrow" was, nor when the holiday was, nor what he was doing there. So he flew off in a hurry to the Flower Fairy.
"Honoured Fairy, you who know all things and are all-powerful, tell me please, what is 'Tomorrow'?"
"Tomorrow, my dear, is another world. One that butterflies do not know; they have a single day, measured in moments."
Overjoyed that he finally had his answer, the Butterfly flew off to his birthday party, where all the Butterflies who were celebrating their day too were waiting for him. They flew, they ate, they danced, and then, when the cake came, Colourful Butterfly had a single wish before blowing on the candles with all his butterfly might:
"I wish to be here tomorrow too!"