Stories should be told about the cracked hearts. The ones bleeding out as their mind determines how much longer they can wait before being officially stood up. Again. Is there a defined time or is it more of a range?
Never the less, it does little to silence the voices which surface or the pain from smouldering. Stories should be told of these missed loves, these casually dismissed futures.
I fear though, no one would read them. Who would wish to learn the shy guy with beads of sweat on his brow would have been an amazing husband and father. Yet the reciept with his number quickly found the trash because he was maybe an inch too short.
Mile 29 