I think its time to have a talk,
A walk over the rubble of once tall walls,
That held a heart so heartless captive,
Lost in halls of raw cobbled things,
That were never really feelings, just things,
Things I need to say, to go over,
All in the name of bless-ed closure,
So sorry that I drove her so far away,
These bereft words, scribbled on a digital page,
Will never convey the dismay of this shipwrecked man,
Who crafted an island by his own hands,
Where he made himself ******,
Where he made his last stand,
But no ending ever came,
Just waves upon waves,
Of drowned dreams and half dead sorrows,
Awaiting death on every tomorrow,
Death that never came,
//self reflection//
Three years is a long time. I think I'm ready to talk to her again.