Broken Promises, an Old Soul's Journey

Not about those that have not been kept. Not about those that have not been said. But about those simply never have been given. And never should.

We meet an innumerable number of people in our lives. Strangers more and strangers less. We slide over them, we sneak around stealthily. And then we stop. For contact for a while. For a cool and rational split of the second. We look heartlessly, we suspend our eyes. And we keep on wandering in a thick, gray flowing mass.

The curiosity of this deviation, the uniqueness of this event always attracts. Always encourage and is always risky. This contact for a moment, this cold and rational fraction of a second begins to last. First it's a few seconds, then it's minutes. But it is cold for the whole time. Always rational. And never open. It change.

A resurrection. With the hope for redemption. With the hope for life, for love for anything you could imagine. You can feel that hope, you can even see the shape of it. That hope that have been promised. But never should.