she was born in black and white

{via}   Her face was a
map of the world
the mountains
and valleys of
a well travelled soul
that could be read
between the oceans
called her eyes. She
was born in
black and white
into a world of
aquarel colors. Her laugh was
a sad song-
the only window to her beauty. Her words were
stories
and her stories were
mischievous whispers
I wish she had told. Her pain,
her burdens,
was hidden in
the corner of her
smile
as mysterious as the
freckles behind her ears. When she was here
we hardly noticed.
When she left
I looked around
and wondered what was wrong
as I do before
I realize
a bird has stopped
singing.
And in the wake
of her footsteps
the faintest scent of morning rain
still hangs in the air.