Pinky Line

Years ago, we locked fingers,

a tight clasp like a secret anchor,

red lines bruised beneath skin,

the faint echo of a promise

etched along my pinky.

Now, your emoji nudges the past—

a small knot

that unravels and tightens again

across time and screens.

That mark, fading but stubborn,

a quiet pulse beneath the surface,

telling me some promises

wear thin, but don’t break entirely.