I live in this tiny box, this box holds my heart. It beats in rhythm of steady tics of life. The ticking of the clock rivals, as I stand watching the flames.They grow and flicker,weave and dance as time ticks by, as I wait for the news.
My heart box beats harder and faster when I hear the knock. I hesitantly open the door, an instantly my face falls for it is not you but your brother. The hour ticks by excruiciatingly slow causing the rhythm of my heart to become painful, as I cry even harder.
My heart box now seems to be empty all the time, no emotions, only nothing. Will my heart ever beat to that beat again? Before the not you but you broke the horrendous news.
©rimson
R