Smoke and Mirrors

I didnt know she was sad because her sketch book held pictures of angels

And roses without thorns

And pretty boys and girls

If her pillow could speak it would tell you she cried a river every night into her cotton sheets 

But her eyes were brown and warm and you could never guess a storm could swirl behind them

And if I’d only listened to her voice as intently as the water falling over her in the shower did, I might have noticed a happy song sung with a heavy heart

But all id ever heard were beautiful words falling from her lips in a perfect melody that dripped down the shower drain 

s.b. 

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