you promised me.

you made me promises and left me alone. left me to do it on my own. can i blame you?

i wouldn't think so if i were you.

i don't think i think so anyway.

these promises in my hands, they're fragile, you know. but i like to turn them over and over, run my prints along their sharp edges and soft curves. hold them up to the light, taking meticulous note of each shed of refraction. i like to smile at their blinking ways. i like to pretend to drop them but catch them before they fall.

once in a while, i fumble and shriek.

most of the time, i catch them, and we all laugh a little bit.

they're of a thin-blown glass. they are of every color and shape and size and fashion.

but most of all, they are fragile.

and i still have yours, after all these moments. i keep yours tucked in between my jaw and cheek, careful to chew around it. i shine it with my motion. i shape it with my palette.

is it unhealthy that i still have it there, my small coveted tumor of promise?