Catching a cold

“If this is the end, why can’t it be quick?” I wonder out loud, my nose running like a leaky faucet. “Please,” I whisper to no one in particular, hoping for some relief from the blanket of ick. 

“I won’t neglect my health again,” I whisper to the fortress of tissues. 

Soup, steam, sleep, repeat.

“I’ll turn things around,” I assure the soothing soup. 

Soup, steam, sleep, repeat. 

“I’ll look after myself,” I promise the hovering steam.

And then, the cold lets go! I’ve scared it away with my promises, and as it disappears, so do the promises. I’ve set them aside safely, just in case the cold dares to return.