She stood before me, a frail and broken child battered by the years.
I found myself questioning where her beauty escaped to.
Once I would have swept her into my arms.
Not now.
Not anymore.
She is far too delicate.
Withering slowly.
I would love to caress her cheek once more.
Brush those stray locks of hair away from her eyes.
But once I do, what will I see?
There's nothing there in her blank stare.
She looks ready to flee.
A bird perched on a branch; ready to take off.
I've lost the only thing important to me.
She is no more.