She puts her head down and slightly to the left
trying to smile, but not all the way there yet-
like a black and white photograph.
It seems like the world has left her.
The little girl across the black stream drowned in the melting snow.
Pity. Because they sure loved to play in the springtime.
The older boy has given up his soul.
Sold it-not to the devil- but to defeat him.
Funeral attire.
She wore a black dress too.
Abhorrence turned into trust which turned into fondness
but too many rules and restrictions and ridiculous favors.
and now? Now what's left of that?
Everything is so solid and so broken at the same time.
If only Einstein was right and this moment was every moment.
So she was lonely and content and wishful and weeping and laughing and kissing all at the same nano second.
So she didn't have to ever drive away.
So she never had to leave the warm, lovely smelling basement.
So, even though the blonde craving a change had become mute,
they still talked till midnight and later.
So she didn't have to choose a worst moment or a happiest moment because it was all one.

because that is what truly killed her.
Time.
but time is a black and white photograph.