She’s happy for one minute, and in the next, she can break the world in two pieces. Clear, sunny, cold, she wanders. She has a strong spirit, enough endurance to make the world a better place, but retreats. Her face reflects day and night, the lure of the darkness. I can still hear her, I guess, since she is still here from the dead flower to the dusty house in Ohio. It hurts, and I’m guilty. Clinging to denial, numb, an empty space. It’s unbreakable, and I’m so tired. They snatched a part of me and refused to return it, even when I begged. When will this ever end, I think to myself. Her silky black hair spilling across the horizon is what I will always see. But even as the clock is ticking, even as she is losing my grasp, I’m drumming out the figure of hope, to be with me, so I can be nothing.