It whispers,
Softly, ever so slowly through the open windows
And into the loneliness of a nearly empty room.
She can feel it swirling around her,
The tender arms lifting strands of her hair
And sending a shiver down her spine.
He knows that she's crying again,
She knows that he can hear her tears,
Dropping onto the pillow
In the dull silence of an early morning,
But neither thinks of comfort.
He hurt her tonight
And now she's drowning in her sorrow,
Her face buried in the softness of the pillow.
The sounds are tearing him apart,
Breaking his heart with each racking sob
And killing him, a little bit at a time.
He doesn't know how to say that he's sorry,
And even if he did,
She wouldn't accept the apology.
How did it come to this?
Was the happiness just a dream,
The handiwork of an all-too human imagination?
Finally, he rolls over to face her,
And reaches out to touch her.
'Please don't cry,' he whispers.
'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you...'
But then she turns to look at him,
Lips pinched together in a tight, thin line,
And she doesn't see him there,
Can't feel him lying beside her in the darkness.
He didn't think it would end this way
But they've lost each other, and it has.
So as the wind wafts through the open windows
And the moonlight splays a pattern across the bed,
He pulls her into his arms
And she cries.