Promises.
They are fragile things.
Things you must cherish.
Things that can crumble in an instant.
They're fragile, like a porcelain doll.
Promises.
Promises.
They are broken.
They are shattered.
They are crushed into dust,
left to scatter in the winds.
Promises.
Promises.
Why do they be made?
If they know they can not keep it.
Why are they created?
If they know they are going to end up crushing it.
They are precious.
They are gold.
You must keep your promise in the end.
Or you'll lose a friend . . .
Like me.
Promises.
