She writes, carves words over ghostly paper wishing that the pain would stop as she pours herself on words but its too heavy.. too heavy for few words to bare, too heavy to be summed between the lines.
She needs to fly, she needs to sit on an old bench in front of a wide sea, deep, wise infinite blue and green and white create a perfect scenery in this imperfect world.
She longed far too long.
She is scattered glass over broken dreams.
She is a forgotten poem over a lovers lip.
She is an ancient ruin turned to ashes under the blazing sun.