the lady at the funeral

She stood through the chilling wind, eyes brim with remorse, bereft of any joy. Her ebony locks seemed to dance with the wind as she took out a handkerchief and hastily wiped her tears off, which had drizzled upon her once rosy cheeks. She was as pale as a ghost, her light complexion highlighting her crystalline eyes, where pools of woe had began to form once again. As her face distorted into one of pure despair, she lets out a hitched sob, chest heaving from the emptiness she now holds inside. – Karyn Hamdyl –