Written by: brittany martin

I sit here at the table, staring hopelessly at the slow-ticking time that hauntingly hangs on 
the wall in front of me. It mocks me with numbers as the hand itself speaks, "He's an hour 
late tonight".  Dinner that was freshly made turned dry and cold as the center candle 
flickered dim. The smell of food danced around the dining room, while I took no taste to my 
tongue.  I placed my heart on the cloth of this table, you retrieve me nothing but loneliness.