i promise


i’ve gone through all your love letters
from some other lifetime
when you and i were
the only two people on earth.

so many sentiments were spoken
in those vital conversations and yet
so much was left out of our daily
routine.

and would you believe, i was stunted by
a blurry photograph on a blank page
of undiscovered faces,
wanting those memories to crawl
away from me and die in some
dark corner of the mind;

what is it about you that draws
Van Gogh, Renoir, or Monet
to fill in the gaps of my history,

how dare you haunt me
as if you were my childhood?

it stands to reason
that being apart from you
has made my January mornings that much colder;
even when it feels like springtime,
that naked side of the bed could never do you justice.

for i, if no one else,
will wait patiently for your return,
and i promise
everything will be the way you left it,
your creaky staircase,
your broken bathroom tile,
your crack in the wall,
your rust on the gutter,

and having said that,
i suppose
there’s only
myself left
to change.




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