She stares out at the rain.
Her tears fall like the raindrops,
dripping from the blackend clouds.
Over on the table
is a single picture frame.
Behind its glass
lies a story of a fractured love.
A happieness once as bright
as a burning fire,
now diminished by a wave of betryal.
As she reaches out to touch the glass,
dust collects on its surface
and the colors fade.
The frame withers
and upon the glass forms a crack.
Thunder sounds
and lightning flashes.
As quickley as the love ended,
the picture is gone.
Nothing left behind as a reminder.
The pain is lifted off her chest
and no new tears are there to cry.
Some things are better left forgotten.
It's amazing what can haunt you,
even a little picture frame.
 
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