Unrequited it's a blessing to have truly loved. To have dangled precariously from the branch of another.

The actual limb at the fringe holds in its hand a magic. Leaking as a river flowing swift to the sea.

A tree of many roads not unlike the spine and nerves. The game comes along the telephone wire morphing like a child.

Hardening over time is the vine so thick and wide. Lost in its abbreviation an hour hand that never moves to slow.

So empty- the plant in the corner waits for light. Listening to the sound of water flowing through its veins.

Still gaining maybe even thriving, minus the aching break. Breathing and holding on to the wind pouring through his hair.