As the silence stretches, interminable, I yearn for something to break it. I yearn for you to break it.
With a laugh perhaps, or a gentle word.
With the sound of a hand stroking skin, an indrawn breath, or a tongue darted out to moisten dry lips.
But you stand there, holding your breath, unspeaking, unmoving, your eyes cast down.
And in my head, where no-one can hear it but me, the silence shatters.
I hear a bell tolling a death knell.
How many strokes for the passing of a love?