Cold fingertips, cold glass.
Odd how the daily routine transformed
from normal to haunting
in seconds flat.

In an instant her face filled with stress,
eyes a window to things falling apart.
Slow movements made it seem
as if time had stopped.
Such a blank look on her face
made the heartbreak evident,
The drop of her fragile heart
could be felt with one glance.

Through the halls she moved
distressed;
tears clearly blocking her vision.
Pacing back and forth only caused
the small room to close in tighter.
An illusion.
Voices; a jumbled mess actually,
turned to white noise
rising louder and louder.
Still the ticking of the clock
stood out as immensely as her pain.

Such a sorrowful sound her crying was,
as it had appeared that she was
no longer breathing.

How could it be true?
An instant,
unbearable heaviness descended.
Her knees giving out,
the flowing of tears continuing
soundlessly as she sank
to the ground.

*21 is not supposed to be a year to die,
it is supposed to be the year to live.