Promise, as promising as your first pair of dress shoes.
The synthetic smell assuming the room.
New.
Fitting for the occasion.
Now the sandals suffocate your feet.
Straps leaving imprints on your toes.
Taunting at your regression.
The one time they'll be proud.
Chunks of paint.
Remnants staining the dark oak.
The one thing in which you will always win.
The one time she'll be proud.
Numbers.
Language of the educated.
Admiring from afar.
So engrossed in your work that you do not see his eyes glistening.
The one thing in which you will never win.
The one time he'll be proud.
Yellow.
Teasing some time ahead.
Teasing a time forgotten.
Make them proud.
So you may see that face once again