She is lucky to drown I dip my head below water, test the depths of my own madness (not yet so true) Time heals, it is said, but how can it, when every day the hairline crack in my heart gets a little wider (I am splitting in two) I have been filled and am overflowing. She suffered, not because of unrequited love, it was seeded deep before that. Her father and brother, whose contradicting sameness held together like a flood which crept into her shell-of-an-ear and poisoned her inwardly out. Ophelia, you are my muse, who sits sorrowfully on the window ledge, sandaled feet swinging slowly, thoughtful, her toes dripping water onto my blue carpet.
