It is said that love comes in its purest form to the most impure, not to change them but to have them see what good it would do them if they had a change of heart.

Sometimes when Mercy would stop and look upon April 16th, her heart would remind her of the impurity bestowed upon her by her one true love. It s neither here nor there, but when she looks outside her window she is tempted to be one with the earth. She is high above the ground with nothing and no one to hold onto.

She has herself, but it’s been two years and she does not see it. She used to have an appealing bosom, soft thick lips of even proportion and a smile that could serve lust on a platter. In her mind it’s still one day, April 16th, but in mine it’s like waking up in a black hole and descending in it.

My name is Michael.

I am the one who sees the light in her. I am the one who has to lock all the windows in case she jumps while I’m away at work. I call her thrice before noon, sometimes she answers, but this has only happened once in the two years.

I know that one day I’ll hear her say ‘hello’ and not the operator telling me ‘the mobile subscriber cannot be reached.’

I am the one who would love to know the color of her heart. It’s pathetic I know, but she’s hanging by a thread and so am I.