She ran away from me. Her face was so close to mine, her pursed and persuasive lips were so close to mine, her frown caressed my eyes so that I failed to see her. All that I saw was this glimpse of something magical.
In the grey, drunken with perception, she became smaller, her frown became louder; her dress shone luminous, her legs moved with determination whilst her hair left behind a slow motion that it cried its way into the darkness. All I saw and all I heard, was beauty; she left with it, she was it and she could never destroy it.
There lay her grave, the masking grace that was all I wanted to see; she was and will be, but what of the disgust in her heart, what of pain, is that not too beautiful? I didn’t see her running away, I saw her rapture, her golden aura and all of her seamless complexion, but failed to realize it was that of her torture, her relentless unheard cries of anguish that were running, in hopes of being seen.