21.

And she jerks awake, heart thumping and eyes filling with her delicate dreams.

Crumble, flickering down her pale cheeks in translucent shadows.

20.

She reads their old emails and she cries.

Not because she misses them, but because she just doesn't hurt anymore.

19iii.

But pianos are so expensive.

Ivory, warmed palepale pink where her fingers kissed the keys.

19ii.

Whiterose finger, she brushes the black, the cold cold ebony.

19i.

She trailed incomplete symphonies in the soft white light.

Lyricless song, hanging in the still air like the unfinished portrait of a lover.