PROMISE
Love appears
like a beautifully wrapped gift
under the tree on a Christmas morn –
hoped for... yet still surprising, unexpected.
I said it will last.
You said you’re glad.
And it did feel like it would – last, promise...
until the bow worn out, the colors faded.
The excitement subsided, the feeling waned.
Questions arose, answers ran out
doubts lingered, assurance retreated...
‘beauty’ disappeared.
Should love, in whatever form, be 'a gift'?
Should its value depend on how beautifully it’s wrapped?
Should its attraction be hinged on such visibly awesome beauty?
Should a promise be made?
Doesn’t promise make love an obligation?
Is it, indeed – an obligation? Should it be?
Really?
Promise?
***
Dedication: To a friend, and this friend's loss. May coping be bearable.
***
