It is as torturous as the sun slips below the horizon, knowing it will never rise again, its warmth exiled to some faraway sky. As cruel as a violin string stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping, yet still trembling with longing. As merciless as standing in a downpour, hands open and useless, unable to shield you from the rain drenching your fragile frame. As brutal as a bird with broken wings, watching the sky, it once belonged to, its feathers heavy with memories of flight. It is as torturous as hearing you call for me in a dream, your voice a thread I clutch, only to wake with an empty hand. As punishing as holding my breath in a sea of longing, unable to reach the shore where you wait with trembling eyes. As ruthless as the moon dragging the tides toward her, only to watch them slip away, again and again. As cruel as a candle trapped beneath the glass, flame flickering wild, starved of air, it will never breathe. As merciless as a key dangling just beyond reach, while the lock rusts shut from the weight of waiting. As brutal as thunder calling out to lightning, only to be answered by silence. And worse still- it is as torturous as watching a flame shiver in the cold, wanting to wrap you in warmth, but bound by distance, forced to love you through whispers when you need my hands. ~ still waiting...Thea Hart ~