Promises made just to be put in a position where you cannot keep them. It's a disgusting feeling. One I'm not sure there are words for. When you look back on broken promises it's even worse. The promise to be patient and be in a position where you feel desperate are like two waves colliding and crashing in on you all at once. They don't mix well, patience and desperation. They are like oil and water. I remember looking at the ingredients for brownies on the back of a box and that saying came to mind. Water became patience and oil became desperation. Maybe it was I that became desperate again. Desperate to find a way to make two things unwilling to become one to do exactly that. Willing to become one. The next thing I know there's shattered glass on my kitchen floor and a mess of liquid still refusing to mix. I failed miserably and in the process broke the only thing that could hold it together. There was no way I could piece it back together and make it whole again. Surley there would be a sliver found a length of time after the incident. Whether it was I who found it or someone else. What was did was done. There was no fixing it. These were the aftereffects of my misconduct. I'd run out of water and added too much oil. I completely forgot about the brownie mix and eggs. As gingerly as my shaking hands could they picked up every piece I could find. The mess was gone. I ran the sink to wash my hands only to discover an array of tiny cuts that seared with pain as I washed them. The mess may have been gone, but these cuts were the evidence left over. I absent-mindedly gazed across the room at a broom and dust pan without acknowledging their existence.
