When I looked out upon the grey horizon littered with hues of pink and orange, a fire lit inside me— a fire like the burning sunset. It consumed me at that moment. I wanted it. I wanted it all, for me— for us. More for us than anything. I’d like to promise that it would be, that the fire did more for me than just plant an idea there. That I would actually do what I wish I could promise, but I won’t promise anything. Because a promise and a wish are two different things. A wish is a wish and a promise? Well, a promise is something I’d never take back. So, the fire consumes me, but a word doesn’t leave my lips— though I want it to, I know it will fall on hopeful ears. Hopeful ears that exalt my wishes as promises. But then, I’d have to follow through, something I’m not sure I can do no matter how much I wish it so. So, like the sunset, I push my wishes down into the mountains of my heart until it shines no more. That’s the safest place to keep it— so no one gets burned. Maybe it will come again, another day. And maybe on that day I could make that wish a promise. For her.
Ded. Empty promises
