a promise kept

inspired by a love story, written for the feeling it left behind.

I’m not sure if I’m wrong.

am I wrong for giving up so soon,

for accepting that maybe I won’t find it?

she only had to say what she wanted once.

a white house
with blue shutters,

a room overlooking the river so she could paint,

a porch that wrapped around the whole place

where they could drink tea

and watch the sun go down.

he promised.
and he delivered.

I don’t care if it’s fictional.

it’s real to me.

the love story is real.

love like that does exist.

I can feel it.