The fury and pain rage within my heart as a lion might step upon a rose bush’s thorn.
You have overwhelmed my soul, my thoughts, my time capsule of joy.
These tears which I cry are those of misery.
They have suffered through years of sorrow and grief, and yet they continue to thrive. They are pathetic and weak, but revived by my memory of you. 
Every moment I spend looking into your eyes is another moment where I feel I am not alone.
That feeling, if nothing else, is consistent.
It is continuously destroyed by reality, and the endless reminder that we are not together.
I have longed for this pain to end.
I have longed for the renewal of my broken heart— its beat is only as strong as your last fading remembrance.
I wish for your happiness and for your well being.
I wish for you to find someone who would love you as much as I could have.
I wish, too, that you will someday look back and wonder what could have been;
perhaps then you will understand.
Perhaps then you will hear what I have heard since the moment we first spoke.
Perhaps then you will see what I have seen since the first time we met eyes.
Perhaps then you will taste the bitter sweet remorse of a love that was never given the chance to live. Perhaps then, you will understand why this feeling within my soul is so difficult to remove.
Without you I am tarnished; I am cracked; I am stained.
Without you I am a porcelain vase—simply waiting for the day where I fall from the shelf and break.

Deep inside of me, there rests a feeling so raw, a feeling so pure, that words cannot seem to describe its’ intentions.

My mind is consumed by a possibility.
The possibility of a dream come true.
I hope for a time when our love is no longer afraid;
a time when our hearts will speak at once.
I hope for the beauty of a happy ending;
the strength of a love that is true.
I hope, too, that these hopeless encounters will soon cease,
and that I will finally find the one person who will change my life forever.

Today.
The word echos within my head. 
Trapped within the walls of my being.  
Will I choose to live?
It’s raining outside.
Rainboots.
What time is it?
Half past eleven.
My stomach growls.
Breakfast?
No milk.
Wait for lunch.
My leg falls off the bed.
I stare at it from my pillow.
Then the other leg.
I pick up my torso.
Rainboots.
I put them on.
I look through the window.
Time to go.

Eloise pulled the blue tabs of the trash bag.
She felt the rush of last weeks waste as it hit her nostrils.
King Bartholomew, the faithful basset hound, watched as his owner’s nose crinkled from the smell. 
Eloise peered into the king’s droopy eyes.
She crouched down and scooped him up into her arms.
She stroked his silky ears and then set him on his favorite couch.  
After returning from the curb, Eloise spoke to the king.
She spoke of her day’s triumphs, of her disappointments.
She spoke of her worries and of her failures.
When she was through speaking, they sat in silence.
It was a comfortable silence. 
It was the kind of silence you feel when it’s just you in the room.
But it wasn’t just her.
In fact, she found comfort in the presence of the king.