The roses I laid by the roadside have withered now, blood-red to brown, crumbling in my hand like dreams.
Her death was news for a day or two, a smiling photograph for the world, hiding demons.
The last time I saw her never leaves my tortured thoughts. I tried to help but each person is an island; we barely know ourselves let alone anyone else.
She mounted her bicycle staring at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen and waved with her cute little hand but the way she said goodbye tells me it was no accident.
Her death was news for a day or two, a smiling photograph for the world, hiding demons.
The last time I saw her never leaves my tortured thoughts. I tried to help but each person is an island; we barely know ourselves let alone anyone else.
She mounted her bicycle staring at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen and waved with her cute little hand but the way she said goodbye tells me it was no accident.
