It came like the winter,
\nand a breeze that almost blew,
\nmy brittle bones away,
\nonce I spoke too soon.<\/p>\n
Never break a pinky promise,<\/em> As my fifth finger, I like Indie, too.<\/em> I sat in unison, Instead I stay still, It came like the winter, and a breeze that almost blew, my brittle bones away, once I spoke too soon. Never break a pinky promise, and that was set in stone, along with the soft rock, playing on the radio, he never let me turn. As my fifth finger, wrapped around his, I began to … Continue reading “Pinky Promises”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":41,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5879"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/41"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5879"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5879\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5882,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5879\/revisions\/5882"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5879"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5879"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5879"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nand that was set in stone,
\nalong with the soft rock,
\nplaying on the radio,
\nhe never let me turn.<\/p>\n
\nwrapped around his,
\nI began to question,
\nhis own motives,
\nand what he stood against.<\/p>\n
\nHe kept a steady eye,
\non the back road,
\nthat lay before,
\nhis rusting pick up.<\/p>\n
\nwith my soda pop,
\nin the palm of my hand,
\ncareful not to look,
\ntoo dreary.
\nFor he wouldn\u2019t approve,
\nof anything of that sort.<\/p>\n
\nstaring at the desert sand,
\nthat scurries past us,
\nas we go 80,
\non a speed limit of 60.
\nI rest my head back,
\nand close my billowing eyes,
\nthinking to myself,
\nI\u2019ve already pinky promised,<\/em>
\nand I can\u2019t take it back.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"