How long can you wait? How much time are you prepared to spend earning your wings? She doesn’t know, which is why her days are spent being numb. She drinks. She fucks. She swallows a tablet here and there to take her mind off things, but it never seems to work. Between the sheets, the more she’s reduced, the better. The more he pacifies her, the less there is for her to think about. It’s just body parts- it’s just death without the sense of finality. Her love is buried in the yard, much the same as mine. It was once in bloom, but it’s been dormant for years, and every sigh she utters isn’t from sensation, it’s mere function. She laughs and plays the fool. She embraces and trembles, but never through feeling, only through repetition. Going through the motions like everyone else, it’s just so easy to be the mirror- to be the same and nothing more. Her worst memory is the abuse she suffered at the hands of her father, followed by the pain inflicted by that of a stranger. It lives on every day, and no matter where she goes, she can’t escape it. It eats away at her, and without fail, it haunts her nights, each and every one of them. There was once a time I took advantage of her sorrow, but now I’m just the same- struggling to breathe not knowing how love will ever find its way back into my heart. We are broken. We are incomplete. But with every tear that drips from our tired eyes, we grow stronger without realising. Find the rest of me, and silence the screaming of the lambs. Lift me up, and I’ll reach beneath the waves and drag you back to the land of the living so your face is warmed by the sun once more. Be Kind. Be natural, and seek the day when your smile comes not from others but from a place far from the clutches of those whose only desire is to call you their own.