Your goodbyes are but a routine.
Your absence sounds the bombs of my days,
It means more, more,
than you you'll ever know.

Late at night,
you work till your bones are red and raw.
Snow, rain, sun, and all are but the same to you.
How is it? Why is it? I ask.

Yet,
I know,
you love too hard.

I try and fail,
am I free to blame my failures to youth?
Am I free,
to free,
my salty rain?

During the thunderstorm of your wake,
I keep red tainted curves tightly sealed,
for they wreak great havoc over your rough and salty shelled heart.
That of which I have learned to see through.

We were once the same,
both children.
But I am who knows nothing,
nothing, of the hardships this world revolves around.

I am one who makes her own dark clouds.
You are one who breaks through troubles set up by gods.
You were given none.
And I am given all that which you hold power to.

You love too hard,
am I selfish to wonder,
time after time,
if you'll ever stop and ask,
What do you think of this?