Late Night Pacts
In that kitchen,
we played,
cooking up life's truths.
Our promises,
whispered
over boiling water.
Each meal,
a blur of
wooden table and conversation.
In that bedroom,
we kissed
and held each other.
Our promises
breathed
over silent music
into the background
of our lives.
The late night pacts,
that when broken,
were more than
not following through,
but a burning knot of feigned strength;
a laugh, a nod of fake agreement
a "you're right."
In that hammock,
we watched promise-less,
the endless night sky mocking our mortality,
the wind my only comfort.
If only the burns
of dinner had warned me,
that this fleeting moment,
this moment that seemed so endless,
would bring us here, worlds apart.
we played,
cooking up life's truths.
Our promises,
whispered
over boiling water.
Each meal,
a blur of
wooden table and conversation.
In that bedroom,
we kissed
and held each other.
Our promises
breathed
over silent music
into the background
of our lives.
The late night pacts,
that when broken,
were more than
not following through,
but a burning knot of feigned strength;
a laugh, a nod of fake agreement
a "you're right."
In that hammock,
we watched promise-less,
the endless night sky mocking our mortality,
the wind my only comfort.
If only the burns
of dinner had warned me,
that this fleeting moment,
this moment that seemed so endless,
would bring us here, worlds apart.