She stares out her window silently.
Does she notice us watching?
A single tear makes its way down her pale white cheek.
Does she know that we understand?
Her room is dark behind her, a perfect black background.
Does she know that darkness frames us this way every night?
She looks around her room. Then, she prays that no one will find her.
Did she not notice us towering over her and her now lost love?
She carefully touches the cuts on her arms, the ones hidden underneath the long black sleeves of her shirt.
Did she not know that we saw everything?
She finally steps away from the window, sadness still filling her eyes.
Did she not know that we were there?
Blackness swallows her as she walks over to the small table that we know is there.
Does she know that our branches droop with the weight of her sadness?
She picks up a blade that reflects the little bit of light from the outside world.
Does she know that this same light makes our shadows on the ground?
Then, quickly, the silver meets her skin. It draws sweet, velvet blood, like a well, from the surface.
Does she know that when she takes her last breath our spirits will fade?
She falls, dying, on the floor.
Does she know that we are gone?