Everything's going to be okay.

Edging closer to solidarity. Asking for redemption while still slurping up the same thoughts of yesterday. Nothing matters but him. Nothing matters but the way he looked at me, all those years ago. That didn't matter at all. As long as he's not here. Hes' gone. He's nowhere between hand and foot. He is between two wasted tears. Wept too often. Taken to another. Burdened on the shoulders of others, too often. And for far too long. He is a double panned window taken with me from year to year. Never quite seen through. Impossible to penetrate. To etch truth and action into in order to see the reality beneath.