once in a lifetime

Black is her mask. It's her shadow and her darkness. Black's her composure in times of danger.

She doesn't wish for the rainbows or the sunny days anymore. She acts like she doesn't care about the flowers or the butterflys. She thrives off misery... Lives for the cold and the harsh Winter weather. Enjoys the sadness that hushes Earth.

Not yet three years ago, she was alive. And wild and happy and beautiful in the fact that she appreciated little things and cared about everyone. Now they whisper, in soft voices, Why does she always wear black?

To which the doves reply, Always, of course.

And she flys over the World at night, draping her long, black cloak and singing a song of sorrow only those with happiness may hear.

To which the people think aloud, How is she still so beautiful?

And the pigeons reply, Always, no doubt. For in trying to subdue herself and in trying to disappear from the light into a world of darkness and shadows, she merely covered it all in black blackness.

And even though her eyes are made of the blackest matter possible, there is a tiny hint of light to them that you may only glimpse once in a lifetime.

When you make her smile.