Do you remember the day we made a promise to each other?

I can remember the weather perfectly. It was cold, and I could hear the soft patter of rain outside your window.
I remember the way your fingers softly pressed the piano's keys, and the way the melody filled the room.

You said we would run away eventually. We wouldn't stay ****** into the same vortex. You said we would eventually find somewhere else to call home, somewhere that word finally made sense.

Whether separated or not, we would seek each other out. We would meet at the usual destination; that cozy bar in an old hotel. The large french windows would overlook a beautiful garden, filled with pastel colored flowers, lush greens and the smell of fresh earth as it rained. Shadows would move freely, with only the soft light sifting through the curtains illuminating the black wood of the bar counter top. Nestled in a corner would be a black grande piano, and a man playing a sorrowful tune.

We would be perched atop slightly unstable stools, sipping on our scotch. We would spend the afternoon reminiscing on the mistakes, tribulations, success and memories we shared.

The silence would grow on us, cloaking us in a puzzling comfort. We would stare out the window and breathe out a sigh of relief.

All of it a distant dream and a broken promise, as I get ready to leave you behind.
I'll still have that dream, when I sleep.

Unfortunately it is a promise no more.