There she was,

standing there like nothing in the world mattered.

Her hair flowed with the rhythm of the wind,

and her mind flowed with the spirit of her soul.

A tiny gold rose sat just below her collar bones,

dangling from a thin chain

to remind her that she was human

and that every soul has a breaking point.

To everyone else, she looked as if she was magical.

The true definition of beautiful.

Captivating.

Standing there in the midst of fog,

the leaves of a Weeping Willow tree.

She looked enchanting.

But on the inside,

she was the Weeping Willow.

She was the leaves crying,

bent over and aching,

with the thorns of her rose

stabbing into her own heart.

She was the Weeping Willow

And she was the rose.

She was everything.

She was the world.

She was the ground,

And the sky,

And the fire,

And the water,

And all the elements you could possibly think of.

I loved her.

Not because she was beautiful

Or captivating,

Or enchanting,

But because she was this soul

That just brought me absolute bliss.

And I wanted that forever.

But the Weeping Willow cried for too long.

The rose’s thorns broke through her skin.

My everything became nothing

in the four minutes

of a heartbeat slowing

breathing slowing

bleeding slowing.

Thoughts slowing.

The thoughts stopped.

The bleeding stopped.

The breathing stopped.

The heartbeat stopped.

The Weeping Willow’s cries,

 have stopped.