She

Thinking about it all, every last drop of it.

She kind of died in a way, without actually ceasing to exist.

Without a funeral. Without a kiss goodbye.

Not a black dress in sight.

Instead, a slow heartbreaking realisation she wasn’t who she once was and never would be again. Dead, at least to me.

She sits somewhere now and it isn’t here as we always had thought it would be. 

I am sure she still has her same kind heart, but it is faded and jaded and tucked underneath.

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