she swears up and down what she feels is love but she has never seen him, never held him, never smelled him, never felt him, never been there when he needed her

she is the mist of the sea and he is the shore, tangentially connected at best, everytime they meet, interact, he loses something of himself while she

she is something different each time

she mistakes grinding him down with affecting meaningful change and he mistakes unwanted attention with a break from the overwhelming, underwhelming silence that permeates the basic functionality of his so called day to day

she tries to change herself to be more like him, begins to mimic his way of things, that pushes him further and farther away from whatever she hopes

she thunders against him, as if this is the way of things, unknowing or uncaring if this is what he wants, but she keeps doing it because this is what she has decided she wants, she has no innate compass, just allows herself to be pulled in whatever direction the obsession of the day lies in, for all her talented need she is a well gone empty and he is not the aquifer she believes

both unable to be what the other needs, one unwilling to let that go, the other unseeing until it is too far gone