“Do it” I say, challenging him. He glances at his watch, even in a time like this he still worries about other things, far away from me. They call him away far more then I’ve ever called him back. “Do it” I want him to. To much of a good thing is bad. To much of a bad thing is worse. He’s a lot of both. Far too good and unbearably bad. I know he’ll do it, he’s just taking his sweet time, for once. He’s never waited for me before, this should feel nice. But he’s just doing it to prolong the pain, salt in the wound. “DO IT!” I shriek. I cant take it any longer. I need a clean break. So I’ve learned, they heal faster. “DO IT, DO IT, DO IT, do it.” the last words come out in a whisper. I am five again. I want a band-aid. I am nine again. I need stitches, not a band-aid. I am me again. Cast my heart in plaster, and leave it there to shield the next heart break. “Do it, leave!” For once he listens to me. Pulls on his jacket, hat and checks his watch as he leaves, leaving a trail of ashes in his wake.