It is not upto me, and not like me to interject at what she has stated, I know time is like a gentle mist on this iron heart of mine
It rusts, yet becomes bright red and makes it brittle, concealing every crack, overcoats it with this dust
With each thought of her, it rusts a little more slowly but steadily, her thoughts corrode, as her absence drenches
Time heals everything, sure, Hasn't healed me my missing you. I hope it fares better for you I respond
I sit down and sink into my chair knowing how everything is about to collapse inside me, gasp as I pause for a moment
She is oblivious to my plight, love, hurt, and thereof, who can blame her, it is mine to bear this too
I close the conversation, wishing her a good night and best wishes, hoping the universe looks kindly upon her
I try to write another line of text to her, I pause I pick up my ruler and hit my own knuckles to stop my fingers
I look at the screen reflecting me, knowing this is no longer me, my will has become dust and its flying in the wind
I close the conversation without another word, having to hold my self upright at this point, work days you see
When I sleep tonight, maybe I will wake up tomorrow and hear her for a moment, or maybe I won't wake.
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