She sat quietly at her favorite café
her hands pressed against each other,
and her dark eyes glaring at the streets,
so sad yet somehow curious,
so full of life, but packed with bags of forgotten dreams.
On this rainy day, with skies turning gray
and umbrellas dancing around the streets,
she sat there,
as if it was everything within her life of
her reflection in the window staring at her pale skin
and dark eyes.
Pale skin and dark eyes,
lips as small and fragile as the wings of a butterfly;
lips that forgot how to speak
since the day you told her it did not matter;
she was not beautiful,
considering the weight on her bones
and the scars on her skin,
and her small, fragile lips.
Her white cheeks drowned in tears of
but she sat quietly at her favorite café,
her face still mellow and soft,
oh her eyes,
as dark as the pain within her heart
and as wide as the love she has given.
Pale skin and dark eyes
and lips that forgot how to speak.