1700
She didn't want the letters that spelled me or the numbers
She didn't pick any of the colors I chose to paint our life's pictures
She will eat some of my fruits but they have to be on rounds of her own trust
I have no influence on her that can be seen from the naked eye
There is but a very thin plastic tight rope to walk this blinded path.
There are thumbs up in the subtle gust of 5 miles per hour wind,
that let you know she hears you
This is it, you can only close your eyes and ignore the pain for it seems
She has left the Building.
