Like the tick-tock of the clock,
Slowly but steadily, our end draws near.
Thick roots held our bond,
But as the days go by, they become thinner.
Like the men on the other side of a 911 call,
We swung into a rescue mission.
Day and night, these dead roots we watered,
But it was as though we poured into a basket.
Our eternal separation is minutes away.
So through these tiny fibres,
I secrete all that is left of my love;
And hope for the impossible.
✏️ A Confident PEN