The bedroom is cold and conversations become less.  She tells me in so many ways that the time is short that we have left.  Her eyes steer through me as she utters the words "i'm lonely",  She misses me but there I stand in a physical form.  Maybe the dream has ended.  The possibilities that she once saw in me have become impatient.  Mybe she is angry that I have not rescured her from the life she hated.  Tempted by the fruits of others who have laready made it.  Tears flow from her eyes as she fights to hang on to breif memories.  Fear is visible through mine as I struggle to hang on to all of her.  Her belief have become weak in me.  The anger within her now has a face.  Soon I will be alone again with me, myself, and I to look to for comfort. 

 

Maybe this is my judgement.  Destin to love and lost.  To heal others but remain broken.  I steer at her as if I were saying goodbye.  Studing her every feature, curves and imperfections.  If I cannot give myself to such beauty then I am incapable of love.  Maybe she sees through me? The pretence of being normal when it is as foreign to me as a language.  She loves the person she sees but is that person a distorted image of the man I really am.  Am I anything at all or just an empty shell that becomes whom ever I encounter.  She was my last hope but the symptoms are all too familiar the verdict always plays out the same.  She is begining to forget, and yet again I only have myself to blame.