|02:30 am - March 23, 2010|
Miles away from me, he lies. I sit. But the clock cannot wait. It ticks faster than my breath which still refuses to stop. He is lying there, miles away in the other room but not as far as my own self which I cannot even see anymore. Can I find myself in time? I ask the clock. And if I do, will he like what he sees? And if I do will I still want him to like it? Miles away or is he? Can I go to him though my heart is cracking quietly open like a grape that has been handled too roughly until it is good for nothing but wine. He doesn't even like wine.