A Promise Is A Promise

It’s harder out here than I’d like to admit, especially without you here to give me all the reasons I need to keep going.  There is an awful horror in how little I have to say, and yet there’s a head swelling with questions and ideas that I can’t get out of me.  I used to be able to just sit, clear my mind, and let you slowly take it all apart, take it all away.  Now I’m left with nothing but a bucket of sorrow that keeps getting heavier and heavier to carry with each day that goes on. Yet I cannot let go, I carry on, and I swallow whatever lumps I must to get me through the day.  When staying alive is all you have and it takes everything you’ve got, there isn’t time to “deal”.  You push, you break, you bandage, and you keep going.  After all, there really isn’t anything else that matters.  I haven’t seen another living person for over 6 months now, and as far as I know, I might be the last one who carries anything left of the old world.  But it’s a vein sentiment, it’s nothing but a side effect of trying to keep something so much more important alive.  What I still have left of you, and the promise I made to fight until the end.