They say that time heals everything.

But all it does to me, is dig deeper. Into the flesh, tugging the skin, carving a crystalline cavity from the chest. It gleams red, and that runs about, freezing cold and hot; it won't stop, only fly forward in a fluke, before tugging the trap away—fall, right into the hole.

What has life come to—what has time drifted into?—the sweet bile surging in the veins; heart, aorta—never ending. Loss, loss, and blackened promises in return. Falling, rising, but sinking; agony, groaning pain. And sorrow!

How long has it been...since I laughed at ease? How long has it been...since I loved the sun, the rain, the wind that whipped our hair away?—since I had a family, of bonded blue blood, right between our hands. When bliss ruled supreme, and drunkenness was joy?

Ah, nostalgia, sweet and cruel spirit, taking, taking, digging little pits around and around; the cavern grows ever the more hollow. The veins wrap themselves about, and death, death, death of the heart—it aches, it aches, and will never release, as time flows softly by, escaping and long would it like, to continue to slip like sand, between our fingers?

I miss you.