I cannot Promise You Forever, But I Can Promise I’ll Try

I can promise that I will kiss you every day that I love you, because your lips are so sweet and subtly tangy to me. But I can’t promise that I will love you every day – that your lips won’t someday become bland to me.

I can promise you that when you get home from work, when I can smell exhaustion on your skin and see it in your eyes, I won’t make you walk the dog. But I can’t promise that when you change out of your work clothes, when you nestle in the fleece blanket on the couch in the living room and put on Suits that I won’t sneak into the bedroom and bury my face in your shirt and inhale, because it smells like home to me. I mean, it smells like Old Spice Aqua Reef and grease – but really, it smells like home. And security, and instability, and optimism.

I can’t promise that a day will go by in which I don’t fight with you. But I can promise that not a day will go by in which I don’t fight for you.

I can’t promise you that I’ll be able to provide for us, at least not in the way that I want. That we won’t be living from paycheck to paycheck for an undetermined amount of time. But I can promise you that I will be relentless in my goals and my passions until we are able to live that way.

I can’t promise that I won’t use your deodorant if I run out of mine. But I can promise that I will never use your toothbrush, ’cause that’s just not right.

I can promise that I will hold your hand at the movies, in the park, at the beach, in the mall, in the car, at a restaurant, in the living room, at the zoo, at the museum, at a concert, on a Ferris wheel. But I can’t promise that my palms won’t be sweaty when I do.

I can promise you that not a day will go by in which I don’t in some way remind you that I lost the love of my life the day I lost my best friend to a drunk driver. And I can’t promise that I’ll ever love you or anyone as much as I loved him. But I can promise you that if you think that this means I won’t still sit through all your freeride events, or pretend to be totally into your Facebook posts, and make you dinner on a regualr, and smell your shirts that smell like Old Spice and mystery to me, and work tirelessly to give you the life that I know you deserve, and make you hold my hands, I can promise you, you’ve got it all wrong.

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