It's Been A While...

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I am certain no one keeps track of my activity on this blog. I am certain that even if I were to apologize, no one would care about the long inactivity of this blog. Either way I've written something I'm mediocrely proud of and that's saying a lot considering how bad my usual writing is. So I decided to share it today. Maybe not the best idea but why not. During class, my teacher gave us an idea of what we could write about. He said to draw a hand and label the hand with memories, meaning, symbols and actions that connect to your hand. It would be personal, of course, but it would also be general because our hands hold stories that someone out there would understand. The written work I have today might be relatable. It's not great but it's simple. And maybe that's all it needs but here it is:

Ever since I could've, ever since I knew the meaning. The pinky promise meant the most to me. As a little girl, promises meant forever until they were accomplished. The promises I have kept with my mum, dad, grandparents, uncles, aunts and friends. Many of which probably don't hold a meaning to them but at that moment it felt like more. Even more reliable than a contract. The promise of my pinky finger to yours meant more that just the promise. It meant that I cared, you cared. It meant, above all, this promise was to be kept but there are things out of my control, things out of yours. Times change, people change and maybe that's why if I were to sacrifice my pinky for every promise, I'd run out in a second. There are promises long forgotten. Promises I remember yet act nothing upon them. Many promises, broken. My pinky is sore through regret and pain, but I still hold it with pride. There are lots of promises I wish I never made. Ones I don't even know the importance of, but each held a significance in that split moment. Joined fingers meant a true promise, more than your word. The pinky was above all. Maybe as children we see the innocence of the act as if it were a spontaneous spur of the moment thing. Maybe as children we didn't know how much a promise meant. We were willing, indirectly, to give our pinky and word to the other and would go through with it. None of us knew the broken promises to come. How we would have to mend them, piece by piece. Bandage it up just so it can bleed again. Some broken promises only sting a little, other feel like crushed bones but the moment I kept my promise and the moment you kept yours, everything seemed right. Everything seemed innocent. We were children once again, conjoining fingers making a promise that would last. 

So probably not great but I gave it a shot. I plan to be more active, give this blog a voice. One different from mine but for now... bye!