They ask me if I still love you.

I blush, grin and say;

of course.

Why?

Because your eyes are of the most utter ocean blue,

but other days they're the currents of the stormy grey sea.

I see a current of salty water, deep, once blue, but now a faded grey.

I see a bundle of darkened grey clouds in the distance,

and the thunder rumbles from your irises,

and I hear it pound in the back of my mind.

I wonder if you knew.

I see a spark of lightening flash, only once in a while,

while you look at her.

My throat corrodes with bile.


She says she sees green demons lurking in the depth of my own ocean currents,

and I shrug.

What am I supposed to say?

I know you think about her.

Night and day.


The hardest part,

is a generic, old saying.

If you love them,

you let them go.

If they love you enough to stay,

or to come back,

you never let go.





But you haven't come back.

he doesn't see what she thinks of him.
what every little word does to her, or how she hooks on to his every word.
how him being close one day and distant the next kills her.
or how her disorder is blowing this out of proportion.
does he hear her stomach rumble?
does he see the gashes on her skin?
does he care?
she thought he was immune to her disorder because of how clearly she saw him.
but then, he changed.
or did she change?
someone changed.
not even the strongest prescription glasses or hearing aids can make him care.
not even the strongest antidepressants or mood stabilizers can make her see that he does.