She died,
a long slow death of tiredness and weeping
cold creeping into her bones,
love seeping out of her heart, her existence, her being.
Seeing only Hopelessness drawn as a painting before her eyes
she cries into the pillow...
Heightened sensations born of despair, tear her apart.
No taste for the future
No sight of a rainbow
No hearing of music
No feeling of tenderness...
just his smell,
he is everywhere,
but mostly in his pillow.
As a weeping willow throws out long roots, destroying all foundations
So her mourning destroys all that was good in them.
Will her tears wash away
even that last presence
- his essence still with her?
- despairingly close in his pillow.
Holding him to her face, she traces the scent of her memories,
Praying her tears won't weep away this last connection.
Hopelessness...
a breathing death,
a living grave.
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