She was the unfinished puzzle
She was the guitar with broken strings
She was the meadow stripped of green
She was the crooked table of support
She was the inner voice of reason
She was the dream forgotten leaving a shadow of frustration
She was the rush of a fresh storm promising heavy rain
She was the ever-changing bricks in a decaying building
She was the wrecking ball extinguishing it from existence
She was the heaven-sent false prophet
She was the flower ripped from its stem
She was the blank pages of a neglected book
She was the dust covering all abandoned objects
She was the frustration in desire
She was the locked door
She was the vacant room
She was the thought with no voice
She was not love
Metaphors are the closest we can get to putting our feelings into words that people can understand. Everyone perceives things differently as they're judged against their own personal experiences.