Life had not been kind to her; it had taken her shortcomings and used them against her like a blunt object to the face
It had not been subtle
Now she was waiting for the other foot to drop
She was watching the water drops clinging to the ceiling and wondering which one would fall first: they trembled like piano keys under a prodigy's palms; they shimmered
Like her tears, which fell too often, her only answer to the mute rage which rose up at the uncertainty and pain of this... Confusion
The snow had fallen and she was beautiful again
But she didn't love him
She looked at the big pomegranates on the bushy trees
And knew, that, ripening, they would come to be like her
Rich with both summer's heat and fall's dissatisfaction