It has been some time since I felt a sense of promise. I hadn’t noticed how used to its absence I’d become. It was like the keys I put in my bra this morning because I didn’t have pockets – at first they were sharp and uncomfortable. The keys poked and prodded at me. But very quickly, I became used to the heavy spiky mass of keys between my breasts and several times looked around frantically for my keys, wondering where I’d left them.
I think the loss of promise was like that – painful at first but I got used to it, like I can get used to most things. But the air today shifted, not promise-crammed so much as air with a pinch of promise on top. The relief was palpable. A bit like removing a bunch of sharp pointed keys from my bra and dumping them out on the table. I eat the air, promise sprinkled.