Promising

When a tempest throws a curtain on the moonlight, and the cover threatens to blind me for all eternity, that will be the night that tests the calibre of my words and my choices. I had promised myself I will remember to shine. And on that fateful night of winding twists and unraveling secrets, it will not be my trust in my own remembering that shall smoothly deliver me to such a mind state, for my memory has failed me countless times before, but in my promises, for I have built myself, over the years, a character within which lies a penchant for the impossible, a thirst for the intrinsic, and a conscience for the very essence of the words I utter. Each drop of my promise is carefully squeezed into suspended glass jars, where it gathers with the many drops of all I have ever promised, each resting impatiently in a line in its own vessel, transparent for all to see and judge. Each added drop feels heavy, these jars forever weighing heavily on my mind, until the day I can rest with my hand on my heart and say with pride that I’ve kept a promise, after which the forever ends, the jar’s contents tip over back into the river far below, and a new era of relief begins. One of confidence, courage, and renewed sense of insight for when I find I must promise once again after all.

Indeed, that is promising. 🤞🏼