Chipped

Now, as I gaze upon myself, I realize that every moment, I’ve been chipping away at my heart.

Where it enclosed you from all around, impermeable, I’ve gouged sections therefrom. Each piece I peel off yields a corresponding yowl in my being, and a gaping vacuum in time’s interlocking hands. This I bear with the might of the weak, the optimism of one who lacks foresight, yet with the authority of a tyrant’s obstinate heart: for this, because this is, I love you more. Nothing could be simpler. It is the earth upon which Euclid’s axioms brace their feet. It is the wind that scares away the ghosts feeding off the green of leaves.

When all this is done, and calm reigns again, our hands would have made sense of time’s brittleness. Our eyes would have regained the clarity once, now, ransomed by distance’s irreverence to love.