Her front door was open,
no car parked in the front.
Her sobs could be heard
from the back of the
room.
My feet made small shuffles
as I walked over to the balcony.
Her fingers were curled against
the edges as she looked down.
Five stories down.
Her foot pressed itself against the
edge; my footsteps increased.
As she was about to throw
herself away from a world
of hatred and bitterness, my
arms wrapped around her
tiny torso. She screamed
and kicked her legs. Hitting
my chest with her fists.
I held her in my arms on
the balcony, on the floor
where roses and thorns
grew. She sobbed her
obscure sorrows into
the veins of the plants
until the stars frowned
down at us.
I wish I could tell her that
it'll be okay. That it will be
okay as long as I'm here.
But I couldn't. Maybe actions
do speak louder than
words.
