Demolished

She wept long and hard. Her head was tossed forward, her hair carelessly swept over her face. It gave the appearance of a mourning veil. Hanging by a precarious thread of composure, her grief-leaden figure displaced itself to the bare floor. She lay shattered in jagged little pieces, each sharp edge laced with agony.
One hand shielded her eyes and the other loosely gripped her throat. Behind her eyes, she saw only blackness. She felt herself suffocated by despair, choking on anger, and smothered by regret. On the cold floor, she rocked slowly and rhythmically, as if swaying to some unheard beat.
What had once been pivotal to her, had been rudely snatched away without a moment’s warning. Chaos ensued. Conflicting emotions raged within her tiny frame. Tireless thoughts clawed her brain frantically seeking explanations. Oh, if there was but one thought to comfort. The effort left her mind much bruised and sore.
The best tragedies are those that are unforeseen. Poets spin verses and writers script plays. The cold figure on the floor cared for none of these. Her hoarse moans rippled through the room, piercing the silence and calm.
The stained flower-printed sundress had, at once, seen happier times. The straps fell slowly down her shoulders, providing a gentle caress unheeded. There is no comfort here. She weeps alone for that which is lost.
Grief is all encompassing. For now, nothing else matters. The only certainty is that the sun will still rise and fall, slowly marking the passage of time. She knew not how long she sat there on the floor, or what willed her to pick herself up.