"These lines on my palm," you said as you turned to face me. "They help me find my way back to you. Every time I stray, trust that I will go back to you."
What do you say to that? How do you say that while you don’t necessarily believe him, you hope it’s the truth?
I shrug and smile. What an awkward moment between us. Lately, we’ve been finding ourselves in these unfortunate situations.
There is dead air between us.
We dispose of heavy words too easily without meaning them. The words “love” and “promise”, we are too loose with them. Once upon a time, they would trigger a blissful sigh or two. Inside, an explosion of so many possible futures.
Now, only heartbreak and grief.
Do we even know what they mean? Why don’t we bother with the dictionary anymore? It would save us a lot of hoping and wishing. Mend millions of broken hearts.
Those fine lines on your palm — a map to my heart. If I had a choice, I would scrape them off and lead you somewhere else. A place a little less fragile, a little less used to you.
But as it happens, this is my destiny. And I am yours.