I hold them close to me, shards of my heart and security, pieces of my emotions, and fragments of promises. You always promised so much to me, those late nights when I was too scared to sleep, as many children are known to do. You promised me you would always be there, you would never give up for me or on me. And you would always give your love, because that is what you always wanted to give.
Growing up. I lose focus on reality and identity as experience sinks in. I begin with doubts, losing faith in my abilities and my character. I’m lost and all over the place and not going anywhere at the same time. And still you don’t change, always there, always promising the next big thing for me to experience. And still I hold these broken promises to myself.
Teenage years, oh those times when my male rebellion comes to the fore, and I challenge you at every turn, resisting in my attempts to construct who I am as a person. We argued, we fought, there was much yelling and misunderstanding and things I should never had said and should have taken back. But how could I, with adolescent pride blinding me to life? And still the promises, how you would be there for me, watching me as I accomplished the many feats of adulthood. Promising how proud you would be when I graduated college, found a career, married that one girl I hope would make you proud. But all I have are these broken promises, holding them close, refusing to let go because they are all I have left of you.
You always promised so much more. And you leave me with nothing but shattered dreams and that crushing sense of loss. But I can’t hate you. I knew, deep down, that it wasn’t so much what the promises were, but the fact that you made them. Coming home every late night, feeling that bone-deep weariness that can only come from tirelessly working for an unobtainable goal. But you still tried. Tried to fulfill those promises, made on the bed-side as you held me close and calmed my troubled mind and dried my damp eyes. You left me with those promises, and I don’t hate you. I only worry that you left without any promises from me, unrealistic promises to make you proud. Promises that were so unobtainable, but you would understand. I don’t hate, but worry that I gave you nothing but words that should be taken back, and an empty spot for broken promises.