Promise Me

Promise me that when I die, you’ll bury me somewhere nice. Promise me you’ll stop by each week, fill a vase with fresh flowers each time. Promise that you’ll care for my stone like it was your own, bring each broken promise you made and unload it on my soul. Promise that you’ll still talk to me as if I was standing in front of you, heart still beating, lungs still breathing. You’ll tell me all of your worst secrets, your inner demons, your lies, cheats and regrets.

I’ll do the same for you, if you happen to be the first to go. I’d stop by every day and tell you how work was. I’d tell you stories about the children, how they’ve become so grown and strong. It’d be tragic if it happened, but I wouldn’t re-marry for the rest of my days. I’d carry your heart next to my chest so I could continue to feel your heartbeat. I’d carry your mind in a basket to revisit all of your thoughts, your hand would still be beside me in bed so I could hold it when things get lonely.

But that’ll never happen, will it? You would never dare to leave me, nor I dare to leave you. Alone in a world with no spouse, no love, I wouldn’t be able to make it. I’d think of you every day, Just as I’d hope you think of me. Your one and only, your faithful wife who stood by you through every woe and worry. There’s something poetic about living like that, with a bloody heart on your sleeve. Poetic, isn't it, that I would die for you and you wouldn’t even kill for me. I would drain a body of blood just to continue to be your wife, I wouldn’t care about who it was, what they did, or who they left behind because, dear, everything I do I only think of you.

So promise me, darling, that you’ll consider this the next time you go out. Consider the fact that I know where you are, the heart is an excellent tracker. Promise me you’ll think twice the next time you think you’ll leave me sooner, I don’t mean to sound rash, but I’ve never been one to love something I don’t chase after. You have kids to think of after all, even if you aren’t thinking of me. Think of how, if you dare to stray from my heart, they’ll have to grow up wondering what their father did to tear their mother apart. Tear her apart, to the point of madness, the point of no return. To the point where she finds your hunting rifle and takes it for a spin.

I hope she's worth it, love, worth every bullet I’d put into her. I hope you would never think again to stray from my side. You need to think it through, if you do decide to go. You’d be playing with fire and everyone knows, no one likes to be burned. Burned to ashes, mixed with the dirt in the ground, I could make it look like you never existed before the sun rose. I could get away with it too, a missing husband sounds so tragic. A poor widow left with four children, all five wondering what could’ve happened. Did he run away? Find a younger bride to toy with false ideas and broken promises of love, and lasting joy? No.

But those are just what ifs I know I won’t have to think of. But just in case, promise me, dear, that what ifs won't be a worry. I don’t worry about them, I know you were made to be mine. Made to be mine, to carry with you all the way to the grave. And if you think I won’t put you there sooner if you ever strayed, you'd be wrong, darling.

Dead wrong.