Silence, as you stand in the doorway. 
Your lip trembles, scared that your voice may betray.
As you step toward me, it looks as if you’re a little off-balance. Your body starts to sway.

Once you’re beside me. Whatever it was that you were attempting to keep at bay. You can no longer, your frame simply gives way.
You’re stripped bare. Everything else falls away.

When you cry. It’s more like half of a growl and half sobbing-howl.

After what seems like a small infinity.
You ask quietly me.
“How long?”
Now, I know exactly what’s wrong.
I can’t answer in time, so you inquire again.
But this time you sound somewhere between the ages of five and ten.

It is my turn to struggle to speak.
My reply is so tiny, so meek.
“S-six weeks.”
You're in tears once more. Rivers slide down your cheeks.

“Oh Lindsay. Baby, stop.” I gently chastise.
Softly kissing you on the forehead. I wish to never again to see such deep sorrow swimming within your gorgeous blue eyes.