He went to a swamp.
She stayed somewhere. In some lost place where she could secretly lock the chain of an anchor in her legs.
He went further to the swampy place.
On the Pacific, off she went. Her anchor landed on the sands of silent sentiments from her tired loved ones. All seemed sick by her self-inflicted desires.
He stayed on that swamp.
She waited until Death claimed her. Time was waiting around and that ****** her off.
He left.
She tried to untie the anchor, chained around her legs, but Death was untying it himself for he was about to take her away.
He went and swam in the vast Pacific.
Her heart turned ice. She wasn't dead, yet. She just couldn't feel anything.
He went further into the Pacific. He got lost and it was too late.
When you're not loved back, the feeling just goes and goes and goes.
