Whispers wait on the wind, on the wire,

destined to die in darkness cast by an absent gaze.

Once it took fortnights for hearts to break, for dreams to die.

The fall of feet,

the hurried rush of hooves,

wheels turned and turned and turned,

before rhapsodies turned to blues.

Goodbye to haphazardly handwritten entreaties,

punctuated by the stains of tearmarks on unread parchment.

Unread, unrequited, unloved.

And today, unfettered by the bounds

of distance,

of space

of time.

Perhaps better to have loved and lost at the speed of light

for flights of fancy to flutter away in a flash,

than to ache in sweet agony for ages.

But still I miss the pain.