I care a little bit less, with each and every passing day. Not wanting and hating feeling that way, worries assail me – have I become heartless. The blazing fire has turned cold – embers pushed aside in a heap, then slowly buried deep, leaving only traces of cooling molten gold. I turn my gaze to the moon, it’s cold and bright. Not a minute too soon, I realise I do not want trite. I want to feel more than I do, I want to see it through. Has the time come to acquiesce, my barren heart still wavering – is it best to acquiesce nonetheless?