Her figure was slumped against the mausoleum
When she saw him standing there-
A stranger whose shadow covered her like a blanket
His figure tiptoeing on air.
"Come to watch" she whispered drunkenly,
And stared as he sat down.
He'd come to watch her die, of course
To sink
To bleed
To drown.
He made no sound, as he crouched down,
His shoulder grazing hers.
Her fingers numbing from the cold
Were warmed by woolen blurs.
He held her hand by the graves that night,
And she didn't pull away
"Who are you," she asked with trembling lips,
"Does it matter, as long as I stay?"
The tears fell down, and the bottle fell,
And she collapsed into the grass.
Her scars were ripped and opened again
With words and broken glass.
But he held there, he stayed, not making a sound
Just holding her in his embrace-
But when, the next morning, she woke in her bed
She had nearly forgotten his face.
He was a stranger to her, and she never found out
Who her savior had been that night.
But his heart had been damaged and bandaged, like hers
Nearly lost in the broken grey light.
But his voice was familiar and full of his strength,
When he gently lowered the knife
And whispered "this storm, no matter how rough, love,
It isn't worth taking your life".