The Secrets to New York

One | Promises

I think I think too much. Or something like that, anyway. All I have been doing since you left is thinking. I’ve been thinking about you, I’ve been thinking about how things should have turned out. It’s really too bad nothing ever works out the way we plan, and that people always end up broken--broken like the old beat up car in your garage; broken like the window at your mothers house (I remember you telling me you broke it by throwing a baseball through it); and broken like a promise that should have never been made in the first place.

We’re forever.

That was a promise. A stupid, worthless promise. But we couldn’t have known that, could we? There was no way. Because we can’t know the future. We thrive on what we feel in a moment--when the windows are rolled down as we’re driving through the city; or when our favorite song comes on the radio and you ask me to dance with you. Those are the moments that we make promises in. It’s never in the midst of fighting over what we we are going to do on a Friday night or whatever other stupid arguments we used to get into. And those are the times when a promise should mean the most--when everything is getting too difficult to handle on our own and we need someone there for us.

But that’s never when promises are made, because promises are meant to be broken, and I’m learning to be okay with that.