and it was sad.

and it was sad. the same kind of sad that spills over the brim of your cracked coffee mug on a rainy saturday afternoon.

and she was just beautiful, like the snow-covered taillights at the end of all of your problems. she held more emotion between her two fingers than most people encounter in their entire lifetime, and the emotion traveled throughout her lungs.

and it was just obvious that she'd had enough. that all these days of being less-than-expected have caught up to her, and now they're all stacking on top of one another like those dusty books in libraries that no body wants to read. the heavy books. and like her problems, no body wants to hear them, but they put on a smile, and a hand on her back, and encourage a sentence of sympathy to slither off of their tongues.

and she applied a similar amount of effort as she did to caring, to her lighter, as the fluid crawled up and out of the gas tank of her synthetic idea of a friend. the sparks coincided her stick of cancer as she inhaled.

and it was sad. there was nothing any compliment could muster up to bring her back to life. as the ashes fell to the tops of her canvas sneakers, the rain hit harder; discouraging and beating down on her just like every other thing that she has ever come to meeting head on.

and she flicked her god off onto the pavement and continued down south street.