pinky swear
“There’s nothing to fear,” you said,
a rare smile spreading slowly
a c r o s s
your face.
3 a.m.
Or was it 4?
Either way,
you were leaving me.
Desperate,
I prolonged the conversation.
“I was just nervous,” I said.
“I’ll say hi next time,” I said.
(“Don’t leave me,” I didn’t say.)
“Do you promise?” you said.
“I’d pinky swear, but…”
and then you climbed out of your
truck and wrapped your pinky around
mine.
Like it meant something.
Like I meant something.
Like we were still kids,
and the greatest show of dedication
(besides a blood oath)
was to pinky swear.
I never meant anything.
I bet you regret making that pinky swear now.
I took it as I thought you intended it-
an actual promise.
And after that, as our various -ships
…faded…
I clung to that silly promise,
that ridiculous pinky swear,
until that was all that was left.
You’ve always broken your promises to me.
But now I’m breaking the one I made to you.
After all, it was just a pinky swear.
