Weeks pass: he doesnt think of you.
You float on the edges of oblivion, the void that is the forgotten.
Try as you must , he will never remember you.
You watch as those endless days of what was murk become brighter, clearer.
He is no longer listless. He is bright - a l i v e .
If you could you would cry , but instead you resign your self to be but a spectator.
You watch as flowers bloom from within him - where there was once dark bruises.
Such is Life.