promises: a list of

Take one if you feel so inclined.

I promise I'll go to Italy one day.

And I promise I'll find someone there whether or not they're with me.

I still want them to be with me, I promise.

And I promise to clean my room.

To put it in a box,

and I can't promise you dry eyes while I do that

but I promise to make a playlist for the occasion.

I promise to call when I get there

once the boxes come undone 

and the first hellos break the sound of cheap kitchen supplies

if you promise to answer the calls.

I promise to start over with new clay and new hands,

and I used to be too stubborn to start over

but I promise I still hold the sweatshirt at night

and the polaroids and little book light the corner desk

and I promise I'll read it.

And I'll give it back to you, I promise.

And I wish I could promise you a reimbursement for the ice cream

and I wish I could pay you back for the dirty shoes and clean eyes

but I promise your eyelashes are still long and you're much better at subtle writing.

But mama, I promise I'll be up in a second, and I promise 

these promises aren't half-full 

or quarter-full 

or gas-light-on-empty.

And we're two halves of the same unopened heartbreak that keeps regurgitating reminders

in the form of playlists and jackets and books on corner shelves.

My friends say I'm climbing a one-sided mountain and he's already left the campground

but I promise I've memorized the size of his pupils and the order of songs on the mixed tape

and he hasn't promised me anything

so maybe I should start listening to my friends.

They told me to climb down.

And I can't promise that their words aren't getting to me

but the weather is still good up here,

my bones are just starting to ache.

I promise I need reminders.

And replayed conversations.

And I don't need new songs on new playlists,

but I do need to know if it's worth locking pinkies

or if the boxes should close and the girl with spun gold hair 

should stop saying goodnight

and climb off of this mountain.

At least tell me if there's another side.

I promise I love the weight of shoulders and the curve of spines

and some of my words may be a hotter temperature than I intended

but it's only because my promises didn't come with a return policy.

I promise it's because

  I miss you and

you forgot to remind me that I was worth a promise.