It was raining hard and patient
The doorknob clicked
The room was lit up
But it was heavy inside
The heaviness was surly
She heaved a sigh
With her light footsteps
She crossed the room
Her charcoal dark hair
Like waves of the ocean;
Dropped down through her frame
Her tired doe brown eyes
Covered by her curly lashes
Wandered through the windows
Her calloused fragile hands
Cold as ice and snow
Traced the windowsill
Clasped them in her heart
She was lonely
Alone in her midst
Alone in her pain
Alone in her memories.

Behold. The sounds of the whistling wind.
The water above,
Mimicking the silver dew drops.
And down it pours.
Touching the darkness,
Empty yet hallowed ground.
A village of cold stones,
Flat beds of green grass.
And the scattered,
Rotted or dried.
Petals of roses and chrysanthemum.
The heavy and monotonous downpour--
Continues.
Continues.
Continues.
Erasing marks of men,
Of women,
Of children.
Whose tears flowed.
Longing for the souls;
Traveling beyond eternity.

Where are your words?
Or were they meant to be just words?

His spoken words were:
“I will love you.”
And so he loved me.
Then left me.
Because his unspoken words were:
“I will leave you.”