It is now the 4th of July.
Yeah, I thought so.
Unexpectantly waiting, expectantly pleased about a letter that was never sent.
Never, perhaps, even existent in the realm of conscious thought or feeling.
A first love.
A second love.
Intertwined with the vines of a hopeless measure, removed from our wrists like shackles and our hearts like severed constrictors who tried squeezing the life from the breathing.
But I am still breathing. Still walking. Still feeling.
Alive, like one coming back from the dead.
For I was dead.
But He is bringing me back to life.
And she ignites the flame of Hope which you extinguished.
Final milestone. Or the second?
Last one for a while.
Stretch the silence to cover the ends of space.
Enough buzzes in my ears as it is.