A depravity of sorts, life always had a way of twisting her out of shape.
In moments of utter disbelief, she, the woman with her veil,
Would silently walk away.
Its been so, for all the years of her existence, as far as she can remember.
Most of it, she choose not to recount. Even her thoughts scare her.

She always believed she was invisible from the rest of the life forms,
Minimal space occupied,
Metaphorically of course.
But now she had her doubts.
Her fears were clawing at the boundaries of her self restricted territory.

Underneath the dirt and gravel, life threw her into,
Her eyes shone with the brilliance,
Of a gem of its own unique design.
There was hope in them.

The noise of the world around, gave in
As a soft lull accustomed to her forgiving and forgetful ears.
She loved but was never loved.
Yet she never gave up.
Her story was like the serenade the band chose not to play..
The most beautiful, but also,
The most painful.

And when she smiled, she threw on that veil
And hid all the hurt she bore.
You could see the tear build up at the corner of her eyes.
Glistening eyes,
The trademark to her soft face.
The veil, she refused to lift,
The truth always hurts.

So easy to forget a face,
But how can you forget the pain
In her voice?