Dry Heart

As they walk she asks him why. ”Why when you have warm flesh and blood beside you always, do you choose to neglect those affections and seek solace alone in the darkness of night, tapping at a screen, and numbing your senses? What have I done that has driven you to this?” she asks, as they stop to look at the flowing river. ”I make no demands, or have expectations of you, other than to keep me like I keep your garden. I give the garden but little time, in the bigger scheme of life, but I give freely water on hot dry days, and look how beautifully the garden flourishes. But seemingly you forget to water me, on days when I need it most, and my heart is turning to dry dust in the wind” And still, he stayed silent as they continued walking, and the wind stirred the leaves