Promise
I have stared at this space for too long but it is a promise I have kept. A promise to write a story, about us, the unwavering imperishable link between us. I may finish our story tonight, or maybe not, but it is a promise I have kept… to endure and press on. It is a promise I have kept. I have told your stories before, in some sodden summer rain or grim winter nights. Quoted in one of my many contemplations, underlined and embolden in my ruminations, tilted and encaptured like a chapter in this solemn place. But you were never a chapter, no, you are the paint that sheaths the poet in me from sun and rust. You are a perplexing power, a story untold, that wrings me asunder in tatters yet whole. You flow unclothed, unchallenged in the marrow of my spirit. - Some days have passed, and I stare at this space, wading through hours I devour minutes, seconds, and I reckon there is much more to be told. Recently I spent some days, doused in the olden ways, with you. But I have returned. Now and
