fingers trembling and dried roses sitting in a corner by the window in a crystal vase
only if you could move closer, would you notice the fine lines around her mouth
or the chip right in the middle of that perfect bulge on the edge of her writing table
the innocent smile peeking through the grey tones in the picture
oh, the riot of colours it was when her unruly curls fell on her face while she laughed!
the yellow dress that fell perfectly around her petite body
and her head swinging in perfect rhythm as the music filled the doors of the sunny cafe
the piping hot cappuccino in the cup grew cold on the side
she could hear no more than the beats
the afternoon sun melted away in the evening sky
little Abigail had heard of stories of grandma Helen
and tonight when she was the saddest, she held her picture close to her chest
eyes with a light pink tinge on the edges and she unbuttoned the last four buttons of her shirt
tying it across her slender waist, she pretended that a pretty yellow dress traced every curve of her body
hair tied into a pony tail, the dimly lit kitchen became her sunny afternoon brunch at a cafe on a Friday night.