You promised me you wouldn’t that day.
We went to your favourite Asian restaurant. You had worn an orange dress with a collar studded with rhinestones. You’d ordered pho, and I still remember how a noodle dribbled down your chin, making you look like you had a squiggly fang. You were animated and your hands…they were always moving, waving, creating imaginary shapes in the air. I would know later that those shapes meant something.
We came home late. While I quickly flipped through the TV channels, you called it a day. Or so I thought.
Sometime after I came in, you were fast asleep, your cheeks still tinged with the wine we had drunk. As I was about to switch off the bedside lamp, I noticed your hands-there were traces of charcoal. I sighed. “You’re incorrigible,” I thought to myself as I set out to find your latest sketch.
It didn’t take me long to find it, it was propped proudly on my study table.
You had drawn a picture of us: you, drinking pho and me, laughing at your noodle fang.
I guess some promises are meant to be broken. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Via Daily Prompt: Trace