she cried on the third
in the middle of the night
cradling her sorrows
which resurfaced from the burrow

the hurt was sparkling greatly
holding an immense armor of maybe
maybe she's still the girl from the past
maybe she can never be steadfast

she let it drown her
until the tears were over
then she closed her eyes, took a flight
this is good night

it took sixteen days
before another night turned to a haze
tomorrow is a new labyrinth to walk through
inhale, exhale; she's more than her blues