'I can't do this. I can't do this', repeated her broken, hoarse voice to me.
Her mascara covered her cheeks and tears bruised her eyes.
Her eyelashes were wet, her forehead was creased.
Her hands were quivering.
Her hair was a mess.
Tangled, just like her emotions.
I gave her a small smile.
'Talk to me', she begged me
She hit the stone until red coloured her hands and bruises stained her fists.
She choked on her sob.
I wanted to help.
Talk to her.
But I could only watch her.
She held her fists and closed her eyes with tears caressing her cheeks, and left after keeping the flowers on my gravestone.
