Not every aching heart
we have the medicine to heal.
Because not every beating pulse
we find ourselves at liberty..
to truly feel.

When the touch of keen,
yet hesitant and gentle finger
senses naught but failed attempts..
at veiling
bitter resignation,
inner turmoil,
and pain..
The only ethical course
of treatment, so it seems..
is to pull the keen,
yet hesitant and gentle finger
far far far away.

Sometimes the only medicine
that does more good than harm
is silence.. and time itself.
Not because I have unloved you..
But because, in fact, I love you..
Far too well.