Time plays games with the sheep we count.

When counting sheep counts against you. Diary of a broken heart.

Another tale of a sleepless night dancing beside the ocean. A notion brought back to life. A motion to beat the sidestepping of real-life. Sidestepping creates a song declared to our hearts. Which longs to hear from our dearest beloved called tonight. The sun peaks up over the horizon. Explosive colors of warmth fill the skyline. Surprising the eyes filled with tears, the ocean delivers a letter. Of love that didn't measure. In a bottle lighter than a feather. Found only because of the sheep. A sweep or a walk to escape counting sheep that were surely counting against this sleepless night.

Dearest beloved,
Time spend apart has over drafted time spent together. At first, each hour skips by day and by night. Truth be told I've counted each passing minute. These numbers counted are counted against these sleepless nights. This particular night is like counting sheep, like a beating heart, like counting the tick-tocks of life. As they form into days, into weeks, and into life.

I'm forgotten. While the memory of you is kept alive. A memory constantly kept awake. As expected, weeks become months. Never quick enough. The concept of time lessons the wound and plays a song of leaping sheep. They play all night. The only escape from counting sheep that were surely counting against this sleepless need.

Grief is a stage and a phase. Like recovery is a phase on a stage. Maybe in a year or maybe two. You'll be nothing like a thought passing through. If death has a way of making us hold hostage selective memories. What can a living broken heart do? Similar to death, the pain takes a breath from kidnapping moments offstage. Imagine what a living heartbreak can do?

Maybe the same.

Maybe much worst.

Signed, your once beloved.

Should the bottle be lost at sea? Should I set it free? Be it going, be it lost, as a love lost at sea. Struggling to recover from what was to the illusion of what has become. I took the bottle with me. Wrote my own goodbye and set it free into the deep blue sea. Now it looks green as the sun begins to set. The colors close their once vibrate brights and say goodnight.

It's not the end.
...Just my end.
......Until tomorrow.
Again.