For what good is it to suffer so great for a man whose dearest heart lies somewhere else?
Remembering his face, the ridges of his nose, his eyes as the blue sky and his lips– the collective sweetness of candy balls. Being a woman; being me –I tend to forget as I am sinking slow in between those exhales –
without him– the cause of my sentimentality.
A heart that’s fed on drastic fantasies… returns to a wholesome nothingness.