A Manuscript From Midnight

Prose Passage: Promises

Do you know why I never make promises?

I learned from a very early age

that it is hopeless to yearn for the

security of an oath when

all you'll get back is

an empty excuse and

an apathetic apology.

Living for the sake of living is something that I long to do.

Loving just because I can seems impossible.

Showing the world places and people who live in my mind

rather than just giving them my wordless ramblings?

Understanding how to be and not just exist?

It all feels as possible as touching the sun.

I want to climb the mountains.

To look back and feel delighted to see how high up I've reached.

But what good is climbing a mountain

if the peak is shrouded in fog?

What good is it if after every milestone,

you look down and wonder:

how long will it take for me to fall?

Will my words ever become more than just ink on a paper?

Will my legacy be some half-scattered sticky notes, with the

fragmented phrases of a failure scribbled out?

I wish I could promise myself that won't be the case.

I wish that I was better than I am.

I wish I had someone I could share my life with,

but who would want to wonder at the burden I'd be to them?

I can't promise anything because

my heart can't take breaking someone else's over my own.

It's easier to hate being alone by choice than to be abandoned.

If I told you how I felt, would you believe half the things I said?

Would you insist that I was insane?

The birds, the trees, the silences

of everything peaceful coming to an end?

Just because I decided that I'd had enough of it all.

Sometimes I wondered what it would be like:

To just be free.

-❀Oleander✿