My love is a building
The foundation beneath it was laid carelessly
Workers smoked and drank, they were unaware and sweetly intoxicated
My love is a building decaying in rain or snow
It cannot withstand such trouble
It is a strong yet fragile house
A lovely uncouth prison, a clumsy little girl's doll house
My love is a building
It is hidden and silent like folding a sheet of tissue paper
With every winter storm, it shivers in the wind
I am sorry to my love
For not taking care of you
The wallpaper withers, falls onto your creaking wood floors
As dust gathers in the basement
Laying particles of the atmosphere over old pictures and mementos
I still have your necklace
And I will hang myself with it around my neck
From the stairwell  
Because everything else in this house
Is falling apart anyways

Slowly she helps pick up the pieces that he left in front of her feet.*

He woke up later, went to sleep sooner, ate more, got rid of his old habits, found meaning in a sunset and saw life at every dawn, compared the necessary and the unnecessary and chose accordingly each time.

But as she fixed him, he was not fixing her

She was still filled with pain and regret and sadness and no matter how many pieces she leaves for him they just exponentially increase to infinity and eventually he gets tired of doing the work and decides when he is ready to leave her, alone and without love.

It is the waiting hour
And our time is nearly up
But what will matter when it comes?
When our waiting stops

So we clutch our dying dreams
And watch the embers burn
An hour gone's
An hour lost
But our waiting doesn't stop

It is the waiting hour
And these dreams will never end
sometime soon
Around that bend
It'll come and end our pain

But the time is running out
And our lessons never learned
The waiting done
Will make us Dumb
And death won't stop a thing

It is the waiting hour
Our time is nearly up
nothing will matter when it comes
When our waiting stops