She called me through a frosted window
but her words were trapped by the cold

I kept on going
frequently-- ignoring the white breath that swirled out of her

Ocassionally, she asked me If I was alright
Even though, I knew--
I knew, the tributaries of the river
which flowed in her mind
were drying up

her curiosity shrivelled
to a place
people don't go

day by day
I watched her corpse in a grim valley of thoughts
where the sun
never shines

she

drifted

wondered

even pleaded--
for guidance

But
I was
too busy
too selfish

and in the end
simply--

too late