She looked at the picture and quietly remembered all of their good times.
Her tears streamed faster; she rocked on her bed, crying for things loved and lost.
She picked up the bottle of pills, turned it 'round and 'round.
She fingered the cap, but set it aside, no hospital visit tonight.
Next, she considered the razor, the quickest and quietest way.
Just a thin, deep slice would do the trick, she pondered, then pushed it away.
Once more she looked at the picture, but this time she pushed it away.
She ripped it up into pieces and dried her eyes on her sleeve.
Living in the past and opening old wounds won't help her recovery.