Promise


I turned around to see
you who I left
behind unfairly

I taste hope and honesty
again in my mouth when
a memory of you flutters
teardrops against my eye

Nothing hurts anymore
except your heart
beating clenched against a
memory you no longer know
how to feel about.

Is it strange that I can still feel
the tightness of your throat,
the tremble of your hands, the
way I hurt you?

But I am still a witch, and my hands
are still filled with magic, and my tongue
is still filled with spells, and in a witch’s mouth
all spells are promises, or maybe
all promises are spells:
so I give you this gift:

You will heal, dear friend.

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