and he wanted it all to cease,
to stop,
to end.
It wasn't that it made him mad;
it didn't frustrate him,
or send a rage boiling up inside.
It was merely tiring,
and the weariness
tore away at his heart,
and made him feel weak,
helpless,
a dandelion in the wind.
She had to make her mind up, he decided.
Because there was only so much more he could take
before he crumbled,
and all the fire that was once there
burned away into the past.
He had been waiting long enough.
