everything was
foreign
everything was
loudly silent.

those flat lines
made her burst
into tears and
blood.

those tears
like rain
dried from above,
hurt her more
than having
a broken love.

the well
was deep
and hollow.

was dry,
harsh, and
no wallows.

was empty,
hard, rough
and tough.

was sad,
bad,
and red.

was uncertain,
unknown,
doubt.

where her voice,
cries and shouts
were rejected and
and full of unimaginable
clouts.

he shared his book,
she listened to his stories.
he shared his music,
she wrote him notes.
he shared his poems,
she sang him words.

he mentioned the labyrinth
she remembered it all.

yet,
what he's uncertain,
or say, untold,
was that
she had her own
well.

the day was nice,
she read her
usual reads,
she listened to her
usual music,
she spoke with her
usual someone.

suddenly,
she saw the yellow
sunset
gradually fading,
slowly reaching
and painting
the skies with
deep blue.

no lights,
no shines,
no glimmers
and shimmers,
no flickering eyes
that lighted her night.

there's an endless,
eternal solstice
of the unknown.

velvet lips
auburn eyes
curly hair
mysterious glare

from those
raining rays
of sunshine

from the
singing sound
of winding
breeze

she felt his warmth
from across the room
she felt his stride
towards her side
and he
grayed her sight
she felt the
slightest, and most
gentle touch
of velvet.

throughout the happiness
that occured
within the surface

throughout the laughter
that she murmured
for you to hear

throughout every advice
she gave
for you to word

throughout every smile
she brought you
for you to be happy

she had an endless
longing for
something

she'd been forlorn
every single time
she steps on the
treshhold
between her house
and her home.