Maybe she read books in her spare time
and wrote letters in between.

Maybe she smoked to the night sky
maybe she drank herself to oblivion.

Maybe she blasted her ears with loud rock music
maybe she listened to sad ballads.

Maybe she loved to laugh until she wept
maybe she cried herself to bed.

Maybe she loved him, maybe she didn't.

She was a collection of maybes; an uncertainty of the unknown.

Nobody really knew because she never told

Nobody ever asked because nobody really cared.

Maybe she jumped off that ledge purposely that night,

Maybe it was merely a slip-and-fall accident.

Maybe.