Blank

She was dark. She had eyes as black as the coffee she drank in the mornings and a wardrobe to match them. The only color she took comfort in was grey, the shade you find in cloudy Portland skies. But those clouds were never as heavy as the ones that formed in her head and every night when they got too full, rain would fall from her opaque eyes. Rain drops would roll down her cheeks and on to the blank pages she tried to fill with words she never got to say to him. Lightning struck as she suppressed her sobs and thunder bellowed when she let them go. But no matter how many times she sat in front of that empty white paper, it stayed empty and white. Perhaps because what she needed to say, no words would ever do justice. Every night she goes to bed, defeated, to escape the storm. Then she wakes up and sees that the showers from the night before have bloomed flowers and there are rays of sun beaming through the clouds. As she reaches for cream to put in her black coffee, she wonders how long this spring will last and awaits for the darkness to return as it always does. Perhaps this time she'll find words to fill the empty white pages.