Another box lies far away, collecting dust, turning gray,
inside are pages, yellowed, dry, and one can spot where
tear drops died.
This box is full of memories lost, painful ones, turned and tossed,
a girl whose life was full of dread, a boy whose hopes; unwitting,
dead:
A new life they had thought to build, but she had shirked, and he fulfilled - their words were different, not the same, he was ready - she to blame.
The inward haunts kept her distanced, and though she yearned she couldn't try - her mind repulsed each bit of progress, she knew that she was meant to lie.
Hoping, happy, whole and free - the young man thought that his she'd be, while waiting for her he prepared, for by her charm he'd been ensnared...
Expecting such a joyous bride, he sidled down the aisle with pride, watching, waiting, just to see - the face of her that brought such glee.
The minutes passed till he was left, standing there, alone, bereft, wondering what had happened, yes, he sighed, broke down, he crumbled, cried.
And didn't know, whereon, she lied, the whitened satin stained in crimson, hidden off in dark repose, upon her forehead sweat did glisten.
Years had passed, still they'd not found her, disappeared, without a trace...yet uncovered in a cove, love is frozen, on her face.
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