It’s over. I’m recovering. Words haven’t flown through the air for several minutes now. The debate is over. The fighting, the persuading, the imploring. Have we reached a pinnacle? Is it all downhill from here? A lone smile appears from within the darkness. “I pinky promise.” A hand reaches toward mine and a promise is made. The hand doesn’t understand why I don’t return the gesture. Promises are a slap in the face. Merriam-Webster defines a promise as “a statement telling someone that you will definitely do something or that something will definitely happen in the future”. If I make a promise, I’m going to break it. You know why? The very nature of a promise leaves it so vulnerable to being invalidated. If I knew for a fact I was going to do something, it would already be done. As soon as I have to assure someone of my dependability, we both know it isn’t going to happen. Promises portray a definitive end and the end is never certain.