Inside the dream he never has, a giant scrabble set. She sits at one side of the table, he at the other. Instead of tiles, the words project solidly out of her mouth. He watches her, and waits to catch the words. He would kiss them if he could. Would kiss her. But she is too far away. Too silent.
An old man tries to garden again. He has forgotten how to use color to his advantage. He scatters seeds everywhere, hoping for discovery. Hoping for a sign. A single flower rising up from the earth, waving at him.
Petals falling,one by one.
The urge to fight has left him. He is defenseless against his sorrow. No matter how hard he tries to cover up. Fill the void with an endless line of people. He isn't very good at change.
I always knew this would happen. That I would be left with him, not her. The pearl that was cultivated noticeably absent. The sand still rubbing pointlessly in the shell.
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